


The Hunter and the Hunted

by dustandroses



Series: The Hunter and the Hunted [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Oz (TV)
Genre: AU, Apocafic, Apocalypse, Canon Character of Color, Canon Female Character of Color, Canon Het Relationship, Crossover, Demon Hunter!Xander, Demon possession, F/M, Female Character of Color, Het, M/M, Non-Comics Compliant, Original Character - Freeform, Oz Big Bang, Oz Big Bang 2013, Post-Canon, Post-Chosen, Post-Exeunt Omnes, Post-Series, Werewolves, post-Not Fade Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 61,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander’s a veteran of a world that most humans still find it hard to believe in.  But that’s changing – there are demons loose in the world, and demon hunters like Xander and his friends struggle to control the threat of the increasingly bold demons intent on destroying what’s left of the world.  When Xander is framed for the deaths caused by a demon whose attacks look like the work of a particularly vicious serial killer, Xander finds himself behind bars, in one of the most notorious maximum security prisons in the U.S.  He waits for his friends to come for him, but as the weeks turn into months, he wonders if he might spend the rest of his life struggling against the human monsters in a prison called Oz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for the support, encouragement, and advice of the other two-thirds of my brain: Ozsaur and Trillingstar.
> 
> Also, thanks to Dr. Squidlove, whose prompt from last year's Oz Magi led to the writing of this story.
> 
> Click here for the [art and fanmix for The Hunter and the Hunted](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Oz_Big_Bang/works/999750) by Looneyngilo2.
> 
> There is a short prequel - backstory on Andrea Phelan's character called "Lunch Break." It is not necessary to have read that story to read the main story of "The Hunter and the Hunted." But hey, it's short. You can find the link to it above in the header.

Xander slipped down the hallway, keeping to the side to avoid detection. The basement of this abandoned building was littered with trash, and it was obvious that it was being used for shelter by more than one person. The occasional streak of pale light that filtered through the grimy glass of the half-windows gave him almost enough light to see the newspapers and empty booze bottles that threatened to trip him up. 

It had to be dark and gloomy. What else would it be when Xander the one-eyed wonder was trying to be stealthy while sneaking up on a demon with hearing as good as any vampire’s. He was careful not to let his sword touch the wall; the scrape of metal against concrete would be a dead giveaway. He smiled grimly – dead giveaway. He would be pretty damn dead if he gave away his location to the Erigantz demon that was holed up down here, sleeping away the daylight hours. 

At least Erigantz weren’t empathic or capable of getting in under a human’s skin and taking over their body. No, this one was going to be a breeze compared to the demon he’d been tracking when he’d found evidence of an Erigantz in the neighborhood. This would be a quick slash and grab job – surprise the demon, kill the demon, free any of the homeless it was keeping tied up in the larder while it slowly digested their fellow indigents, and get the hell out of Dodge before the cops showed up. 

Not that it was likely that the cops were out in large numbers in this neighborhood, but still, it was important to stay under their radar as much as possible. He’d grown used to the cops he’d run across in most of the Third World countries he’d spent so much time in. As long as the Council greased their palms, it didn’t really matter to them that some man was going around searching for girls between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, who just happened to have the strength of half a dozen men. 

Waking up with powers they’d never dreamt of was hard on the girls, let alone on the ones assigned to searching for them. If he’d known how hard, he’d have argued long and loud about how reckless it was to create a spell that woke the Slayer in all the Potentials who lived around the world. Having more than one Slayer at a time had been a major bonus, and it had definitely played its part in saving the world from the First Evil. But activating all the powers in all the Potential Slayers in the world might have been overkill. The girls who hadn’t been in on the fight against the First had suddenly found themselves not only powerful beyond belief, but able to recognize supernatural beings they’d never dreamed existed, as well as plagued with frighteningly prophetic dreams, all with no explanation. It had caused a hell of a lot more trouble for everyone involved than anyone had expected. 

At least Xander was back in the U.S. again, even though his job was somewhat the same. He still hunted down new Slayers and explained their powers to them and their families. Then he brought them to the Slayer schools to help them deal with those powers, and learn about the supernatural world they’d just been so unexpectedly thrust into. But now he also had the dubious honor of trouble spotting demons, and letting the Watchers know where they were, and exactly what their Slayers would need to defeat them. He usually dealt with the smaller problems like this Erigantz on his own, but the larger troubles were delegated to the ones with all the training, and the supernatural strength. 

Like the Davraad demon he’d been following for a good three months, now. Xander’d had no idea what he was getting into when he started tracking it seven cities ago. They were good at blending in with their prey, but if Xander was anything, it was stubborn; he’d be damned if he’d lose that bastard now. It had taken some fast talking to convince Giles that this was the best use of his energies right now, but this thing was too dangerous to leave wandering free. 

He was bone weary of the struggle, though. He and the Davraad had been dancing around each other for too long, and when he finally defeated that bastard, he was going back to London and taking a well deserved vacation. He shivered as he stepped into another shadow. Well, maybe not London. He had some money saved up; maybe he’d go someplace _warm_ , instead.

He paused outside a door that was littered with piles of bones and random body parts. He breathed shallowly to avoid the stench of the Erigantz’ past meals. Decaying flesh was probably one of the worst smells imaginable, but these demons were handicapped by the fact that they fell into a stupor immediately after a big meal, so they had to keep their food supply close to their nests. 

At least this would be a straightforward battle instead of the mind games a Davraad was capable of. Xander was better with a weapon than he was at out-thinking a devious son of a bitch like that. He needed the help of someone like Willow or Giles if he was ever going to beat this Davraad, but they hadn’t returned his calls in weeks. He’d spoken to Faith, since he was much closer to Cleveland than he was London, but she had no answers for him. 

Demons were on the rise everywhere, and there was no way she was leaving the Cleveland Hellmouth right then to help him out. The pack of baby Slayers she was training were too inexperienced; she didn’t feel comfortable sending any of them to help him track this thing down. She hadn’t heard from London in weeks, and even then, Giles had said that they’d lost contact with Buffy and her entire contingent of Slayers and Watchers a couple of weeks earlier while they were tracking down some particularly nasty oogedy-boogedy. As Faith had so bluntly put it: it looked like he was on his own this time.

That was an uncomfortable place to be right now. He was positive that the Davraad was playing with him; he’d get so close to it, only to have it slip through his fingers over and over again. He’d thought about abandoning the hunt to track down his missing friends, but every time he got discouraged enough to do it, he’d run up against it again, and off he’d go. He couldn’t stand the thought that the longer it spent inside an innocent’s body, the greater the chance of corrupting their soul, or driving them irreparably mad. So he kept going.

He’d told himself more than once that he’d go back to London, and figure out what was going on there. Then once things calmed down, he’d come back with help, and track the bastard down. It wouldn’t be that hard to find, it left a trail of bodies behind it that was unmistakable. It looked like the work of a particularly vicious serial killer, but the hand behind the killings wasn’t human, and that was what confused the FBI. They’d never find the Davraad using profiles intended for humans, because there was nothing human about this killer. No, it was up to him to stop this one, and it looked like Faith was right, he’d have to do it on his own.

And he would, just as soon as he got this Erigantz demon out of the way. He could hear it now, its breathing loud and heavy in sleep. They slept like the dead – the real dead, not the undead – so while it was asleep was the best time to attack. It might seem wrong to strike while it was sleeping, but considering that they had twice the strength of a human, and their bite was poisonous, taking it out while it was asleep was the smart way to go. 

Besides, it wasn’t like they gave a damn about giving their victims a sporting chance. The poison in their bite could kill, but they preferred their din-din alive and screaming, so they only scratched their intended meals. They kept their prey under control by moderating their bite – a lower dose of the poison made humans malleable and kept them sedated until the Erigantz was ready to eat them, then they let the poison wear off long enough to put up a fight they could never win – all the fighting and tears did was give the Erigantz a happy.

Xander crept into the room, his eye on the demon sleeping in the doorway of an interior room, his gleaming, orange-red scales scattering the dim light with every breath. It didn’t wake, so he risked looking behind it, into the room it was guarding. There were easily half a dozen dazed men and women in the room, probably more that he couldn’t see. It was a good sized larder for an Erigantz, it wouldn’t need to leave the building for another week, since they seldom ate more than one human at a time. Unless they were small. 

He snuck closer, hoping that the people would all stay quiet, because if the Erigantz woke up, there was no way he could defeat it, and the chances of any of these guys being able to help him fight were pretty much nil. One guy with a scraggly, gray beard seemed livelier than the others. He waved at Xander and pointed back toward the door Xander’d just come in, then up into the air. Xander nodded at him. Yes, he knew where the exit was, and they could all leave, just as soon as the demon was dead.

These guys were really out of it. Xander wanted to tell the guy that he wasn’t going to get near that door unless Xander could kill the demon guarding them, so he needed to stay calm and… _sedated_ until Xander killed the nasty monster. _Then_ he could leave. He had no way of conveying that to the wild-eyed man who was waving at him, so Xander decided to ignore him and concentrate on the Erigantz in front of him. 

He looked back down in time to see the Erigantz open his sleepy eyes, and focus blurrily on Xander. The spike of adrenaline that surged through him at that moment probably saved his life. He whipped the sword out of its scabbard and brought it around in a perfect arc that decapitated the demon with one blow; the blessed oil he’d coated the blade with before he left his hotel room easing the sword through the shiny scales like a hot knife through butter.

“Yes!” Now that was how it was supposed to be done. He watched with satisfaction as the Erigantz jerked a few times while its body caught up to the fact that its head was missing, but finally the body began to melt into the nest of newspapers and rags it had been sleeping on. Now that was the way it should always work; kill the demon and it destroyed all remnants of its body as it died. No messy clean up, just an oily residue that could easily be ignored in a place like this. 

He cleaned his sword on a blanket that was too far away from the center of the nest to be soaked with oily goo, then glanced up into the doorway as he sheathed his sword. The homeless people stared in stuporous amazement as the last of their captor slowly melted into nothing. All but the guy with the beard, who was still pointing, his eyes wide with fright. 

Xander got the sudden tingling feeling crawling up his spine that usually meant that he was about to get munched on. He started to spin around, but something dropped down, and landed behind him, right before his head exploded into sharp, jagged stars and broken glass. He fell to his knees, and he could have sworn he heard someone one shout “Freeze!” right before everything went dim. 

He struggled to stay up, but his arm gave way and he collapsed onto his back, stars scraping through the dingy light around him. He knew something was happening, because there was shouting and gun fire – gun fire? And screams, as the Erigantz’ prey finally caught on that they were free, and escaped their prison.

Suddenly the man with the beard was back, interrupting Xander’s view of the unfinished ceiling of the basement. He grabbed one arm, dragged Xander right though the slimy nest, and into the room the Erigantz’ captives had been trapped in. Xander tried to fight, but his movements were uncoordinated, and his head spun as he lifted it. In the back of his mind he cataloged the symptoms of a concussion – he’d had plenty in his career as a demon hunter – he knew what to look for. 

There was a cop in the doorway, and the bearded man cringed back against the wall as the cop grabbed him by the neck, pulling the man to his feet.

“What the hell were you doing, you little bug? You almost gave away my game!” 

There was an odd gleam in the cop’s eye, and Xander gasped as he realized that this had been a trap. The Davraad tossed the old man away, and approached Xander, squatting down next to him. Xander tried to scramble backwards; if the Davraad touched him, it could get inside Xander’s head and take over his body. Xander had no illusions, he’d done what he had to do to save his family of friends, the Slayers he tracked down, the innocents he fought for – he knew there was enough blackness in his heart that the Davraad would easily be able to find entrance to his soul.

He panicked when he thought of what that might mean to Buffy or Willow or Giles. Xander knew far too much about the workings of the New Watcher’s Council; with Xander’s body, this bastard could run rampant through the whole organization. The demon grabbed Xander’s arm, holding on tight, and he burst into a frenzy of uncoordinated movement. 

The Davraad shook him hard, and bright spangles of light burst open inside his skull, accompanied by sharp, pounding pain. Xander fought the nausea that threatened to erupt. This was not the time to puke. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” the demon told him. It laughed as Xander trembled in his grip. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m not interested in your body. You’re not my type.”

It giggled like a demented school girl, which Xander thought was pretty damn creepy. His vision started to grey out, and his head slumped forward, but the Davraad slapped him hard. 

“Don’t leave me now, asshole. I have to tell you all about how I set you up. I love to gloat; you’re not depriving me of this one.”

“Oh,” Xander gasped, “I wouldn’t dream of missing this.” He willed his head to stop pounding.

The Davraad backhanded him, and his head smacked up against the wall behind him. Xander gasped, his head reeling as the pounding ache threatened to break right out of his skull in bright flashes of blinding light. He told himself to stop pissing off the psychotic demon, but even as he thought it, he realized that he seldom had control over his mouth. Especially in times like this. 

“I’m getting sick and tired of you,” it growled at Xander.

The demon got up in his face. The cop whose body it had stolen had a round, cheerful face, and it was playing hell with Xander’s mind to hear it talk the way it did with those round, chubby cheeks. 

“You have been hounding me for _months_ now. What the hell did I ever do to you? Huh?”

Xander couldn’t control the bark of laughter that burst out of him. “You mean other than murdering all those innocent people?”

“They are nothing. They’re food, and you keep interrupting my meals. That’s very rude, you know.”

“That’s not going to stop me. I’ll keep after you until I die.” He cringed internally. What the hell was wrong with his mouth? He’d just practically _asked_ this demon to kill him.

The Davraad shook its head. “No, you see, that’s where you’re wrong.” It smiled, and Xander shivered, shocked by the malice and danger in the demon’s eyes. “The cops have your fingerprints at the scene of the crime in four different cities now. Clever, huh?” It grinned widely. “You, sucker, are gonna pay for my crimes.”

Xander fell back against the wall, hardly noticing the spark of pain. He was stunned. He’d fallen right into this bastard’s trap, and with practically everyone he knew missing or maybe even dead, there would be no one to get him out of this.

The demon got up and stepped to the doorway, as if listening down the hallway before it turned back to Xander. “And me? I’m moving on. In a hundred years or so, I’ll come back and visit your grave, and take a long, comfortable whizz on it. Has a kind of… poetry to it, don’t you think?” 

“Oh yeah. That’s poetry, alright.” Xander turned his head to the side and spit blood onto the floor. He must have bit his cheek when he fell; his mouth was full of blood.

“What the hell do you know? You’re a fucking demon hunter!” it said with contempt. “There’s so much out there to explore and experience, and you live in hotels, chasing after the monsters in your head. I appreciate this world. I deserve the chance to enjoy it to the fullest, and you? You get my leftovers.”

There was shouting in the hall, and the Davraad stepped outside the room, shouting. “In here!”

The old man who’d saved his life whimpered in the corner. Xander looked over at him. “Stay away from it,” he whispered. “Don’t let it touch you, do you hear me? It will take over your body, and destroy your soul.”

The guy’s eyes got very wide and his hands shook as he wrapped himself up in an old tattered blanket he grabbed off the floor.

The Davraad was back with reinforcements. The cops stepped inside, checking on the homeless guy, who screeched as they tried to speak to him, screaming at them to leave him alone. 

In the confusion, Xander glanced back to the door. The Davraad was staring at him, a small, mean smile playing on its lips. The cops grabbed Xander and pulled him upright, but he doubled over, puking on the floor and one cop’s shinny, black shoes. The cop cursed at him, and they dropped him back down onto the floor after cuffing his hands behind him. 

“We’ll have to let the EMTs check him out before we move him,” one of them said. Lights were flashing behind Xander’s eye, and a small percussion ensemble had obviously taken up residence in his skull, because all he could hear was the pounding, crashing noise that he thought might be the rocks that had replaced his brains smashing up against each other. He leaned back against the wall, struggling to keep his eye open to hold back the spinning nausea, and focusing on the cops on the other side of the room as they tried to convince the homeless guy he was safe with them.

He must have closed his eye for a moment, because the next thing he knew, the Davraad was kneeling directly in front of him. It grabbed Xander’s chin and forced him to look at it.

“You have fun in prison, you hear?” It grinned, its eyes lighting up with that weird glimmer for just a second. “I’ll think of you every single day.”

Xander spat, the mouthful of blood that had gathered there spattering the demon’s face. 

The Davraad slapped him, knocking his tender head into the plasterboard wall with a resounding thwack. As Xander lost consciousness, he swore he could hear the bastard laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

Sean knocked on the door of Tim’s office, barely pausing before he opened it. Tim looked up from the papers on his desk, blinking as if he’d been staring at them for some time, which Sean had no doubt was true. The man simply did not understand the meaning of the words quitting time.

“Join me for dinner at Rosie’s? It’s lasagna night.” Sean sat down on the corner of Tim’s desk and Tim blinked up at him before glancing at his watch. 

“I had no idea it was that late.”

“I thought as much. Come on, wrap it up and we’ll head for Rosie’s.”

Tim glanced back down at the stack of papers on his desk. “Give me ten minutes to finish this. I’ll meet you in the locker room.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Sean hadn’t fallen for that one in years. “If I leave without you, I’ll still be waiting downstairs two hours from now. I’m staying right here until you put that stuff up and we can go to the locker room together.” He crossed his arms, staring at Tim with his best “pissed off Head C.O.” stare, and Tim folded. The Head C.O. stare always worked.

“Well, I guess I could take it home with me.” 

“No. You’re not taking it home with you. You’re not even allowed to talk about work as we eat.” Tim opened his mouth to protest, and Sean cut him off before the words left his mouth. “It’s bad for your digestion.” 

Tim looked down at the papers on his desk. Sean cataloged them with a brief glance: Reports for the warden and reviews of the staff, complaints from inmates and outrageously idiotic demands from the Department of Corrections. When you ran a unit of a maximum security prison, the risk was high that you’d be buried in paperwork on a daily basis. When your unit was a highly touted and closely watched experimental unit like Em City, the extra layers of red tape had the potential to suffocate you if you weren’t careful.

As the unit’s Head Corrections Officer, Sean did his best to cut Tim free of the mess, but he had his own paperwork to shove through, so there was only so much he could do. As Tim’s best friend from childhood, Sean understood Tim’s drive for perfection, and his honest need to do the best for the men in his care, but there were limits to his endurance. If Tim didn’t take time to tend to his own wellbeing, he’d end up falling apart like he had a few years back, and Sean wasn’t about to let that happen again.

“Is there anything in that stack that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Fine.” Tim shoved the stack of paperwork into his desk, locking it up with a sigh. “Can we at least talk about work until we get to the lockers? I want to know what you think about the list I left you.”

Sean stood and walked around the desk as Tim grabbed his briefcase. “Yeah, all right. We can do that. You already know what I’m going to say.”

“Do I?” Tim gestured to the door and Sean took the hint, Tim following him out into the hall. 

“Of course you do. Harris is a psychopath.” Tim opened his mouth, but Sean bowled right over him. “He’s a serial killer, Tim – manipulative, vicious, remorseless. Do we really need his type in Em City? Don’t we have enough trouble already?”

“He says he didn’t do it.” That was Tim’s ‘pick a fight’ voice.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not always,” Tim argued. “Not serial killers, anyway.”

“Yeah, all right. That’s true. They have a tendency to brag. But not all of them.” Sean stopped at the top of the stairs down into Em City, eyes searching the crowd for trouble. Tim tried to keep the numbers divided up fairly evenly, no matter what ethnic, religious or societal groups the prisoners divided themselves into: Latinos, African Americans, Italians, Aryans, gays, bikers, Christians, Muslims, Asians, Irish. But no matter where they fit in the complex community that was Em City, in _his_ mind, Sean divided them into two groups: “more trouble” and “less trouble.” And no matter what Tim said, there was no group labeled “no trouble at all.” Sean fanned his hand out to cover the entire unit. “Do we really need another psychopath?”

Tim had that mulish expression that usually meant that he’d already made up his mind. “I think he deserves a chance to prove himself one way or the other.” 

It was Sean’s turn to sigh. “Why do you even bother asking my opinion, when you’ve already decided what you’re going to do?” 

Tim beamed him a cheery smile. “I love hearing you bitch. It makes my day.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Asshole.” He started down the steps. “Well, if you love hearing me bitch, you’ll be thrilled to hear what Querns did today.”

“Oooh, gossip?” Tim took the steps two at a time behind Sean. “What did our ‘fearless leader’ do this time?”

“He’s decided we need yet another layer of red tape. He told me and Phelan that he wants mandatory 15 minute check-ins for the Head C.O.s of every unit.” 

“What?” Tim squawked from behind him. 

Sean headed for the gate. He knew Tim’s long legs would catch up with him in no time, and he was right.

“Why the hell would he tie your hands like that?”

“He caught me and Phelan laughing at some stupid thing or other in the break room earlier. He’s decided that we have far too much time on our hands.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Don’t worry, it’ll never fly. He’s just mad at Andrea for showing him up in the training room last week.”

Sean had to agree. Phelan had put the Warden to shame. He should have known better than to take her on, one on one. In a field as overrun with big bulky men as theirs was, a woman like Phelan had to work her ass off to hold her own. Since she first showed up at Oz, she’d put them all in their place a time or two. 

“I guess Querns figured she’d take it easy on him, since he was her boss.”

Tim laughed. “That just shows that he doesn’t know Andrea very well.”

“True. She’s not known for pulling her punches.” 

They were at the gate by then, and Sean threw a cocky salute at Armstrong as he flicked the switch and let them out. Sean felt a sense of relief wash over him as the huge gate rolled shut behind them. He’d turned over the reins for the day, and for once, Tim hadn’t put up much of a fight as Sean dragged him out of Oz. There was a game on the tube tonight. Maybe after they ate, they could buy some beer, and watch basketball. Sounded like a good night to Sean.


	3. Chapter 3

Xander watched the guards carefully as they herded his group of three in the opposite direction from the majority of the new prisoners. He hated being a new fish. It was the same, no matter where you landed; you had to prove yourself to everyone, and watch your back, or you’d end up dead. And he didn’t have a built-in community like the Hispanics or the Blacks or even the Aryans did. He was on his own. Always on his own.

When he’d been in Africa it had been even worse, because he didn’t even understand the language most of the time. But in Africa he’d never been in prison. As he was slowly beginning to realize, prison was a lot different than jail. He had no idea what had happened to his friends. After they’d arrested him, he’d called Faith in Chicago, but he hadn’t been able to reach her. He couldn’t reach anyone. That was when it hit him that he might actually be in real trouble this time.

He was right. It felt like time had stretched up to pull him in, holding him tightly. He knew it couldn’t be right, but it seemed like his trial had taken days, instead of the months it had dragged on in reality. It had been the kind of media circus that he’d always dreaded – he was a demon hunter, his fingerprints had been at a lot of crime scenes, not just those of the Davraad who’d set him up. He’d taken the fall for a number of deaths that had nothing to do with the Davraad’s killing spree. 

What was he supposed to tell them? He’d been chasing demons? That would go over well. He’d told them he was innocent. They hadn’t believed him. Not even his own court appointed lawyers had believed him. They’d thrown him to the wolves, and he’d been snapped up and swallowed whole. Unless Willow or Buffy miraculously showed up, he was here at the Oswald State Correctional Facility for the rest of his life. Oz. That’s what everyone called it – like he was over the rainbow with the Wicked Witch of the West and the Tin Man and all the little Munchkins. 

The problem was that the Wizard had turned out to be a bad guy after all, and he’d left Xander holding the bag. What was funny was that there really were flying monkeys, although they were from a different dimension than this one. He couldn’t remember for sure, but it might have been the one without shrimp. Anya had told him all about it. The thought of her still caused a pang in his chest, three years after her death. It wasn’t as intense as it used to be, but he was beginning to think it might never go away. He missed her laugh.

They followed the hacks into a room with a bunch of benches in it, and there was another hack standing there, arms crossed, watching the three of them, brows drawn down into a heavy frown. He looked like he was in charge, nodding to the other hacks as they handed out clothing – Xander did a double take – those were his clothes. Hot damn. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see that shirt again. 

He quickly changed into his clothes, not wanting to give them a chance to change their minds. He’d heard that he was going into an experimental unit, but he hadn’t realized the advantages would extend to civvies. Then the guy in charge started talking, and he paid close attention, wanting to know what the hell he was getting into.

“Gentlemen. I’m Officer Murphy. I’m the Head C.O. here, and you’ll be answering to me if we catch you doing anything wrong. Let me assure you, you don’t want to cross me.” He took a moment to look closely at all three of his new prisoners before he spoke again. “We do things differently here in Emerald City.”

Emerald City? Xander snorted. They were taking the whole Wizard of Oz concept a bit far, weren’t they? He looked around for the Lollipop Kids, but there were no dancing munchkins to be found.

“You’re given some advantages here,” Murphy continued, “but at the same time, we expect a lot more out of you. We have more rules than anywhere else in Oz, and we expect you to learn them by heart and follow them faithfully.”

It seemed like Murphy was focusing his speech on Xander. He guessed he ought to be used to it by now; they thought he was a badass axe murderer, they obviously expected him to cause trouble. But if they thought he was out for trouble, why were they inviting him into their New World Order?

“Keep your pod spotless. Exercise regularly. Attend classes. Go to drug and alcohol counseling. Everyone is required to work. You’ll follow the routine we set out for you. You’ll sleep, eat and piss when we tell you to. There will be no yelling, no fighting, and no fucking. We expect you to learn self-discipline, gentlemen. If you don’t, there are plenty of others that would love to take your berth in Em City away from you. So play by the rules, or you’ll find yourself in Gen Pop, wearing a prison uniform while someone else makes themself at home in your pod.”

Xander wondered what a ‘pod’ was, but wasn’t about to ask. He was sure he’d find out soon enough. Three men were escorted into the room, and Xander watched them curiously. They were obviously prisoners, and none of them looked particularly happy to be there.

Murphy nodded at the three. “These are your sponsors; they will help you get used to the routine.”

The three men couldn’t be more different from each other. A tall, bulky guy in well-worn jeans and work boots, with long, straggly hair; an old man wearing a fishing hat, and a short, but powerfully built African American wearing one of those skullcap things – he was obviously a Muslim. Xander wondered how the sponsors were chosen. He could see the other two lining up already; they knew who they were getting paired up with. That left him with the old guy with the hat and vest.

The two Muslims exchanged greetings as Murphy introduced them, and the greasy guy looked like he knew the bald man with all the tattoos. Xander figured them for bikers, what with the huge Harley Davidson tat on the new guy’s shoulder. The old guy with the hat looked at Xander nervously as Murphy announced his name.

“Agamemnon Busmalis. Alexander Harris.”

“Xander.” 

Murphy stared at him. Xander cleared his throat. It was the first thing he’d said in a while, and it felt awkward to talk. “My first name is Xander.”

“Xander.” Murphy nodded. “I’ll make a note of that.”

Xander nodded back. 

“Xander, huh? That’s an unusual name.” The old guy, Busmalis, sounded as nervous as he looked. 

Xander stared back at him. He had nerve, with a name like his. “I wouldn’t know, Ag-a-mem-non.”

Murphy snorted, and Xander fought back a smile. He was trying to work on his mean-ass don’t-mess-with-me attitude, so grinning at the hack who got his joke was probably not a good idea.

“Oh, right.” Busmalis played with his hat sheepishly. “I guess I’m one to talk, huh?” 

They followed Murphy through the big gate, and Xander clenched his jaw as it slammed shut behind them. This was it. Home, sweet home for the rest of his life. His life officially sucked.


	4. Chapter 4

“This is the laundry room, of course. And over there are the phones. This is the common room. You can play chess, or checkers, or cards, or whatever.”

Busmalis was pretty nervous. Obviously he didn’t show serial killers around every day. Xander was kinda surprised. Oz had a fierce reputation. Xander couldn’t imagine that they’d never had any experience with serial killers. 

Matter of fact, he was pretty sure he’d heard gossip about a serial killer being responsible for clearing out the whole damn prison two or three years back. Something to do with a grudge against the Aryans, and a huge jar of some kind of deadly powder. He’d cleaned out all but a few of the Aryan Brotherhood, and a good number of the bikers, if the scuttlebutt was true. It usually was. A lot closer to reality than the prison officials liked to admit, anyway. 

“The TVs are over there.” He pointed to a bank of TVs up next to a guard’s station. “They restrict the channels we’re allowed to watch….”

“What? Why?”

“They say the good cable stations are too violent, so we’re limited to the main ones for the most part. Hey, there’s always the reruns of Miss Sally. She’s a big hit.”

“Miss who?”

With a gasp, Busmalis came to a stop on the edge of the common area. Xander stopped with him, but he looked around suspiciously at all the rooms with their clear glass walls, checking to see who was watching him, because you needed to know where you stood at all times. Most of them were empty, only a few people lying on their bunks, or sitting at desks. There were more men in the common area, and some of those stared at Xander with interest, but it seemed more like curiosity at the new fish than anything he needed to worry about.

Busmalis was staring at him with horror. “You’ve never heard of Miss Sally’s Schoolyard? Oh, my god. It’s the best show on TV! It’s a children’s show, with puppets….”

Xander saw Murphy staring at him from the guard station halfway up a flight of stairs on the other end of the common room. He threw up a hand to stop Busmalis’ spiel without taking his eye off the hack. “Wait – let me guess. Miss Sally’s got huge tits.”

“Hey!” Busmalis cried, indignantly.

Xander turned and looked at him, cocking one eyebrow. “You got a problem, Busmalis?”

Busmalis swallowed heavily. “It’s just that…. Well, she’s a fine upstanding woman. I mean, Miss Sally is a goddess.”

“You’re telling me that these jokers watch a children’s show for anything other than to see her jiggle her tits in tight, low cut sweaters? She does wear low cut sweaters, right? And short skirts?”

Busmalis shrugged self-consciously, as if admitting that she was hot was a shameful ordeal. “Well, yeah. She does. But she’s more than just a pretty face and a stunning body.”

“I’m sure she is.” 

“Oh, and then there’s her current show. It’s been running for years now. It’s very popular.”

Xander looked at him, obviously waiting for the punch line.

“It’s an exercise program called Sally-cise. It’s the best show on television, bar none. I really don’t understand why none of the major networks have picked her up.”

Xander decided it was time to change the subject. “So all these glass walls – the hacks can see in all the time? You don’t ever get any privacy?”

“No, all the walls are Plexiglas, you’re not alone any time you’re in Em City. Even the shower room only has a little half wall between the sinks and the showers.”

Well that was one way to cut down on illegal activities. “I take it that cuts down a lot on the illicit sex, violence and drug use.”

Busmalis shook his head. “Not as much as you’d think.” 

Xander stared at him in surprise. 

“I guess you just get used to having an audience.”

What the fuck? He guessed there really was a new world order in Em City. “So where’s my bunk?” He stared down at the towels, sheets and pillow he’d been hauling around since he got to Oz. “I’m getting tired of lugging this shit around with me.” 

“Oh! Sorry.” Busmalis jumped a little, then started walking around the edges of the common room, looking back to make sure Xander was following him. “Your pod is up on the second tier.”

“So a pod is a cell?” 

He watched the men around him closely; it was possible none of them knew who he was at this point. But that wouldn’t last long. News traveled fast in a place like this. No matter what, he would have to pay close attention at all times. There would be those, like Busmalis, who had no interest in getting too close to a killer like the one they thought he was. But there would be the others who wanted to challenge him, wanted to prove their own importance by taking down the bad ass serial killer. He was going to have to prove himself again and again, and with one eye, that wasn’t going to be easy.

He was really lucky that Willow had mojoed his senses before he left for Africa, heightening his perceptions on his left side. His hearing was sharper, and he could feel the air currents against his overly-sensitized skin. It had taken him a lot of time to get used to that, but now, his blind side wasn’t as big of a disadvantage as everyone was likely to expect. As long as he was dealing with humans, he could keep up in a fight a hell of a lot better than they might think.

“I don’t see Alvarez. I guess he’s still in the infirmary.”

“He’s sick?”

“No, that’s his job. He’s an orderly. He works the afternoon shift.”

Busmalis led him around the TVs and up the metal stairs, right past the guard’s station where three hacks he hadn’t seen yet stood, watching him walk by. He turned his head back to the stairs, as if the hacks weren’t worth looking at, although in reality, they were on his blind side, he couldn’t have watched them for much longer without revealing his fake eye. He was pretty sure they knew about it, but there was no sense in advertising your weaknesses in a place like this. At the top of the stairs, Busmalis went to the right, and Xander realized he was kind of back behind the hack’s station, which could be a plus. He’d take every advantage he could get in a place like this.

Busmalis held the door open for him, and Xander walked in. Home, sweet pod. He guessed he was on the bottom bunk, since there was a pillow and a blanket on the top one. He was surprised the bottom bunk was empty. There was usually a fight for the bottom, although there had been a few jails along the way that had wars over the top bunk. Who the hell knew? He’d deal with that later.

He dropped his towels and crap on the bunk, and the pillow slid off the stack and landed on the bare mattress. Neither mattress nor pillow had any bounce to it, from what he could see. But then, that wasn’t surprising. He looked around the small room, taking it all in. It was larger than he’d expected, but then that might be due to the fact that three of the walls were clear glass, which gave you a sense of a wider space than the room actually took up. It was weird not to see gray walls and bars. He’d been in the local jail for far too long.

Busmalis stood next to the door, holding it open with his body, probably for ease of escape. 

“Alvarez should be here in half an hour or so. Do you want to ask me questions? Or you could watch TV, or play a game of checkers, or solitaire, or something. You have to get the games from one of the hacks, unless you own your own.”

Xander turned back to Busmalis. What the hell. He might as well get some of his questions out of the way, since Busmalis was supposed to help him get settled into his new ‘home’. 

“About this Alvarez guy, you know him?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s been here a long time. Longer than me. Nine or ten years now, I figure. Way before they evacuated us to Lardner.”

“Huh.” Xander filed that info away. This guy hadn’t been around near as long as his age suggested. Well, not everyone was arrested in their prime. “Is Alvarez connected?” This was the important stuff. He needed to know if he was going to be able to sleep at night.

“Connected?” Busmalis obviously had no clue what he was talking about. 

But then every joint he’d been in had its own slang, he couldn’t imagine that prison would be any different.

“Connected. He’s Latino, right? Does he have familia?” 

“Well, his father is in here somewhere, Unit C, I think. His tongue is missing, so he doesn’t talk that much. Obviously.”

Well, that was interesting. There was probably a decent story there, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. He guessed that familia didn’t mean gang here. “No, I mean is he connected to a gang? Inside or out?”

“Oh! No. Not anymore.” He looked outside, to see who was around before he let the door close behind him. “From what I heard, the year before I got here, he was the leader of El Norte. That’s the Hispanic gang in here. Then some hotshot showed up, and Alvarez handed the gang over to him with no fight or anything. But for some reason, the new guy hated him. Alvarez ended up in solitary, and he kinda went crazy after the new leader made him stab out the eyes of some hack.”

Xander leaned heavily against the bunk, trying his best to control his shock. There was no way Busmalis knew about his eye, he could always tell if they knew from the way they stared, or even worse, looked away like they’d been caught staring when they shouldn’t. He would swear that Busmalis didn’t know. He fought down a shudder. Just the thought of losing his good eye made him panic. But years of bullshitting people, both as a kid and an adult, stood him in good stead, and his voice was calm when he spoke. 

“He poked some dude’s eyes out?”

Busmalis’ eyes got really wide, and he shook his head frantically. “Oh, that was a long time ago. He doesn’t do stuff like that anymore. He’s not even doing drugs or anything. He’s a stand-up guy these days, honest! He goes to church every Sunday!”

Xander had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. His head felt like it was spinning from all the crap he’d had thrown at him today. “Well that’s good to know.”

Busmalis was clenching his hat in his hands, twisting it into something unrecognizable. “I shouldn’t have told you that, I guess…”

“No. No, I’m glad you did. I’d rather hear it up front than after the fact.” 

“Oh, right! I guess that makes sense. But like I said, you’re safe with Alvarez. He’s a decent guy these days. Really he is.”

“Don’t panic, Busmalis. It’s all right.”

Busmalis smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just a little nervous.”

“I noticed.” Xander decided to risk bringing it up. No sense in dancing around the big, old elephant in the middle of the pod. It wasn’t that big a room. “So you don’t often get murderers in Em City.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” 

He motioned to the chair at the desk, head cocked to the side in question, and Xander nodded.

“Have a seat.”

Xander sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk, and rested his elbows on his knees, watching Busmalis curiously.

“A fair amount of the men in Em City are murderers. My cellmate Bob is a murderer. Twice. McManus doesn’t go for just the safe guys, here. He tries to keep a wide variety of people in Em City, just like on the streets. You meet all types, right?”

“Serial killers, too?” 

“Well, not as many of those. But we’ve had our share.”

“So why are you so nervous around me, then?”

Busmalis chewed on his lip for a minute, before answering slowly. 

“I think the thing is that you were such a big deal on the TV. Everyone was talking about _The Hunter_ , you know?” Busmalis dropped his eyes to the hat he was twisting into smaller and smaller spirals. 

“The news told us over and over again what kind of killer you were. How you must have sharpened your blades before every murder until they could split a hair, the rituals you went through at the murder sites, how vicious you were, the way the blood spattered everywhere, even on the ceilings, and the way you cleaned your knives on your victim’s clothing after every kill. They really built you up into some kind of _monster_.”

After all the time Xander had spent fighting to to keep his face still, and to not react to the things they’d said at the trials, the words of an old man should have been easy to ignore. They weren’t. He’d fought hard at his trial to maintain this neutrality, only to have it thrown back into his face. They’d called him uncaring, said he couldn’t even raise a tear or an ounce of remorse for what he’d done. 

But he knew he was going to die, he knew the Davraad had set him up so well that he’d never get away. Every loose end was covered after the fact, while the demon had possession of that cop. Xander refused to go down crying and begging for mercy. He refused to allow the bastard that kind of satisfaction. So Xander hid his sorrow and his horror, because it wasn’t going to change anything, and would just make the survivors feel worse. 

The state had recently fought a big battle that had resulted in the repeal of the death penalty, but that didn’t mean anything to him. He’d fight to stay alive as long as possible in case Willow or Buffy found him, but chances were he’d spend the rest of his life in Oz, however brief a time that was. He had no doubts that his days were numbered. 

“You’re The Hunter. You’re larger than life, you know? You’re the boogey man in the closet late at night, the monster under the bed. So yeah, you make me nervous. I’m a nervous kind of guy. I panic over hangnails. Work with me, okay?”

Xander laughed out loud, one harsh bark of laughter, and Busmalis lifted his head, staring at him, eyes wide.

“What’d I say? I didn’t mean it. Honest!”

“I’m not mad, Busmalis.”

“You’re not?”

“You’re the first person to make me laugh in months.”

“And that’s good? I hope that’s good.”

“It’s good. I haven’t had a lot to laugh about, lately. I appreciate your honesty. In return, let me offer you some honesty, too.” 

Busmalis’ eyes got really wide, and he leaned forward, as if to make sure he didn’t miss anything Xander said. 

“I don’t plan on killing you or anyone else, unless they try to kill me first.” 

Busmalis blinked at him in surprise. “Oh.” Obviously he hadn’t expected that. It seemed to take a minute to sink in. “You don’t?”

“I give you my word. And I don’t give my word lightly.” 

“Wow! That’s great news!” Busmalis grinned at him, and shook out his hat to try and get rid of all the wrinkles he’d twisted into it. He stuck it on his head, and stood up.

“Why don’t you come on out, and I’ll introduce you to my friend Bob. You’ll like Bob. He and God are personal friends.”

Xander stood up, and followed Busmalis out of the pod. “Is that so?”

He had no doubt that everyone would know what he’d said by this time tomorrow. He was taking a chance by making an announcement like that, but sitting there talking to the old man had made him realize that there were only so many compromises he was willing to make, even in a place like this. He could tell himself he’d be careful and not run into trouble head first, but it was just in his nature to put himself out there, and it wasn’t likely that that would change. 

He’d never be the carefree Xander he’d once been; that boy had died in Sunnydale, buried along with the town in the largest ‘sink hole’ ever known to man. The new Xander had been born under the hot sun of the African Savanna, and in the rainforests of the Congo. It was a formidable land, and he’d become a harsher man who hid his feeling under a tough outer shell. But while he was harder to stir to laughter, he was harder to anger as well. 

If there was anything Africa taught him, it was to live your life right now, because it was too precious to waste on dreams of the past or hopes for the future. He’d just have to keep that rule in mind, and do his best to not get dragged down into the hate and fear he could practically _feel_ in the air around him. Life was too short for that, even in prison. No, _especially_ in prison.


	5. Chapter 5

“Will you look at that?”

Sean stopped at the top of the stairs to Tim’s office, turning to stand next to Tim at the railing, overlooking the common room. He swept the room with a practiced eye, cataloging the men and who they aligned themselves with, picking out patterns and attitudes and future hot spots to pay attention to. He noticed that the new guy was sitting with Busmalis and Rebadow, playing a game of what looked like poker. 

“Look at what?” He looked again. Maybe he’d missed something.

“Look who Harris is sitting with.” Tim’s voice was smug. 

Sean just rolled his eyes. “It’s a bit early for congratulations, yet. After all, you did set him up for that by insisting I stick him with Busmalis, despite the fact that it was Prichard’s turn to sponsor. Harris just got here, he hasn’t had a chance to pick sides, yet.”

“Pick sides? You make it sound like he’s in grade school. That’s the playground, then?” He swept his arm out, encompassing the entire common room. “Is that it?”

“Not the only playground in Oz, but Em City’s residents definitely play here.” He got a nasty look from Tim, but refused to let that stop him. 

“What else would you call it? They congregate, usually along societal or racial lines, pick fights with each other over stupid things like stealing candy bars and cheating at poker. And don’t forget the predators,” he pointed out a group of the Homeboys watching TV, as Riker sidled up to Poet, probably in search of drugs. There was no other reason he’d get that close to the Homeboys while his friends were all upstairs having yet another prayer meeting in one of the classrooms.

Tim saw it, too. He sighed heavily. “I’ll mention to Sister Pete that Riker seems to be backsliding again. She told me a couple of days ago that he hadn’t been showing up for Drug Counseling.”

Sean nodded, his eyes on one of his C.O.s who was watching Poet and Riker from the Guard Station. “It looks like Klein has his eye on Poet, so they’re not likely to do anything now.” 

“I guess I can see what you’re saying, Sean.” It was obvious that Tim wasn’t happy with the comparison. “Pancamo is definitely the classic school yard bully, getting his cut of the drug and gambling trades, and shaking down the younger kids for their lunch money.”

Sean turned his eyes to Pancamo, who was seated several tables away from Harris, surrounded by his bodyguard of Wiseguys. He watched Harris intently, probably wondering where he was going to land in terms of legal and illegal activities. Maybe he was looking for a new assassin, but then again, maybe he was just fascinated by the idea of a serial killer loose in their ranks. 

Harris looked withdrawn, but alert, but then who wouldn’t be on his first day in prison. He didn’t look too nervous, but then he’d spent the last three months in jail, he should be used to incarceration by this point. That hadn’t been his first stint in jail, either. He had a track record that stretched from Africa to Europe and down to South America, with a few stints in U.S. jails to round it out. It was funny how the charges never stuck, though. 

He’d be out in a few days, often with his arrest struck from the records. It was only during his trial that the prosecutors had dug out all the funny business and found a dozen or more jail records that had mysteriously disappeared. Harris was slick, and he obviously had friends in high places, but they hadn’t been able to help him this time. Sean wondered what made this time any different from the others. Had he pissed off the wrong person? In the past, the charges against him had always been for misdemeanors or infractions. Had he gone too far, this time? Made too much of a mess? Maybe his friends just got tired of cleaning up after him.

His head hurt from all the possibilities, so when Tim changed the subject, he gladly went with the abrupt shift, forcing his aching head to focus on something slightly less stressful. 

“Tonight’s staff training night. You ready for your partner?”

Sean moaned. “That woman is deadly. She may be a nun, but she’s the most vicious little thing I’ve met since Sister Constance in the fourth grade. When she smacked a ruler down on your desk with quarter of an inch to spare, you could feel the wind as that ruler sliced past your fingertips.” He shook his hand out, like he could flick away the pain.

Tim laughed at the story, which was what Sean had in mind. When Tim laughed, Sean felt lighter. He was so in tune with Tim after all these years that his moods seemed permanently linked. If he got Tim laughing, his heart always felt lighter. 

“So you think this mandatory training for the staff is helping?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sean had no doubt about that. “It’s the best idea Querns has come up with since he got here. It helps the C.O.s because training newbies uses your mind more than just running through the same old routines every week. And it benefits the staff by teaching them how easy it is to get themselves into trouble. They learn new ways of coping, and thinking on their feet, and although I doubt they’ll be taking down any out of control inmates any time soon, hopefully they’ll be able to think instead of freeze if an emergency arises.”

“Watch out, Sean, you’ve got something brown on your nose, there…”

“What?” With his hand halfway to his nose, Sean realized what Tim was saying. “Fuck you.” He smacked Tim on the arm. “I say he was due to hit _one_ on the head. He’s been Warden – what – three and a half years now?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in.” 

Tim headed back to his office, and Sean followed, shaking his head. Tim really needed to get over this grudge. Querns was a smarmy son of a bitch, but he certainly wasn’t the worst warden Sean had ever worked for. He was no Leo Glynn, but then, Leo was one in a million, God rest his soul. The world was worse for not having him in it anymore. 

Tim’s problem was all tied up in the time he’d suffered his breakdown, and Leo'd had to fire him. Querns had run Em City into the ground while Tim was gone, and Tim would never forgive him for it. Querns had really fucked up, that’s true. Sean had been forced to ask for a transfer; he just wasn’t willing to stand back and watch what Querns was doing to the Unit. But Querns had been fired for his actions, come back a smarter man, and now ran Oswald with a firm, reasonably just, although occasionally clueless, hand. 

Sean was never going to get Tim to admit that, though, despite the fact that Querns had gone head to head with the Governor to keep Tim at his post. Devlin had hated Tim with a passion, and the sentiment was returned. Devlin had come close to firing Querns for refusing to get rid of Tim, and it was only the work of incoming Governor Case, who exerted his own pressure on Lame Duck Devlin that kept Querns in his position as Warden. 

“Do you think Querns is trying to make a move on Andrea?” Tim plopped down at his desk, like he hadn’t just handed Sean a bombshell.

“What? Where did that come from?” 

“Why else would he continue to insist that he train with her, even though he knows she considers it a challenge to take down any guy she works with? We had to practically carry him to the Infirmary after last week’s session, and I heard him earlier in the break room saying he was looking forward to being tossed around by her again tonight.”

“And you think that means he’s got the hots for her?” Sean thought about it for a while. He hadn’t noticed anything like that, but then, he hadn’t been looking for it. “You aren’t thinking of asking her out are you?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I’ve had a thought or two. But Querns keeps taking up all her time. He talks to her after every staff meeting, and he’s always standing close to her during training, even when we’re warming up.”

“Yeah, well, if you bothered to get to staff meetings on time, you could talk to her before they started. She’s usually just hanging out then.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Not my fault you’re always late. Querns has asked me more than once why the Head C.O. can get to meetings on time, but the Unit Administrator can’t.

“Shut up.”

Sean couldn’t help but laugh. That had been a standing joke between them long before either of them ended up at Oswald. If Tim ever got anywhere on time, they’d have to throw a parade.

“Hey, you think he’s a masochist? Maybe he just gets off on pain?”


	6. Chapter 6

“This is my wife, Norma, and this is Ruby. Isn’t she sweet?” Busmalis’ voice was full of pride. Children were children to Xander. He’d seen enough of them starving in Africa, all skin and bones and big bellies full of nothing but hunger, to never want to see another. At least this one was healthy, and even a little bit chubby, which was so much better than malnourished kids with matchstick arms.

He didn’t know what to say. It was hard to maintain his big, bad attitude and coo over baby pictures at the same time. But it didn’t matter; Busmalis didn’t even notice that Xander didn’t say anything. 

“She got her first baby tooth at five months, and she was walking all by herself at ten. She said both Mommy _and_ Daddy at twelve months, and she’s completely potty trained now. Isn’t that great?”

He tried to hand the picture to O’Reily who shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Kids are kids, man. They all look alike to me.” 

“Wait a minute.” Xander could be slow sometimes, but the numbers weren’t adding up. He’d gotten the idea from Busmalis that he’d been in Oz for seven or eight years, now, but the kid was just three and a half? His wife was a blond bombshell, a hell of a lot younger than he was… “How long have you been here?”

“Yeah, you’re getting it now.” O’Reily grinned at him. “The Governor stopped conjugals in 97, that’s almost ten years ago. But Busmalis’ baby is just three years old…”

O’Reily let the sentence die out, but Busmalis just hugged the baby picture to his chest. “I tried to inseminate Norma, but the Board of Corrections wouldn’t approve it. She’s my baby, no matter who the sperm donor is.” 

O’Reily laughed, but Busmalis ignored him. 

Xander shrugged, it didn’t matter to him, one way other the other. He’d just as soon not see any more baby pictures, though. His time in Africa haunted him, sometimes. When he first got there, he tried giving his money away to every hungry child he saw, but his translator, Kibwe, wouldn’t let him. 

He’d said handing them his money wouldn’t help. The small amount he had to spare might feed a whole family for a week, but when it was gone, they’d still starve. If the diseases they already had didn’t kill them, they lived in a war zone, even the ones who weren’t officially at war. Disease and poverty and greed and hunger were everywhere. He was better off helping the ones he came here to save. They still had a chance, and these children had none. 

Xander’d never been good at languages, but he learned Swahili faster than any other he’d ever tried. He’d hoped that once the translator left, he’d be able to spend his money the way he wanted, without Giles or Willow or Buffy smacking his hands every time he called home - Kibwe had been a big tattle tale. But by the time he was good enough to go out on his own, stumbling through phrases he’d spent hours memorizing, he knew that Kibwe was right. 

So he waited until he found each new Slayer, and offered the family money for the time they let him stay with them. But he didn’t throw out money to the hundreds of sick and dying, and sometimes he’d cried himself to sleep over them. That was before he’d learned how to build the shell around his heart. He was much better at hiding things now. 

That white-haired hack walked up to them, his sharp eyes focused on Xander. His nametag said Mineo. 

“Harris.”

“Yeah?” It was kind of early for him to have done something wrong already. He kept the word neutral. No sense on going on the offensive this early in the game.

“That’s your stuff on your bunk, right? Sitting in a pile?” He motions with his head back in the direction of Xander’s pod. 

“What about it?”

“Didn’t Busmalis tell you that you’re expected to keep your bunk made up unless you’re in it?” He didn’t sound pissed off about it, but wasn’t giving any ground, either. Xander was surprised. First confrontation with a hack, and the guy was cool as a cucumber. He guessed that his reputation would only go so far with these guys.

Busmalis jumped up from his chair, eyes wide. “Oh, crap. That’s my fault! I totally forgot to tell you that, Harris.” 

Mineo poked his finger at Busmalis, hitting him in the shoulder right over the picture of his little girl. “Your job is to help him fit into Em City, Busmalis. Not to teach him how to play patty cakes with your baby. You get him into trouble, and you’re the one we’ll come after. Got it?” 

Xander stood up. “No harm done, man. I’ll go make it up now.” He noticed O’Reily’s raised eyebrow. Obviously it wasn’t normal to be nice to old guys. Or maybe he just didn’t expect Xander to be nice to anyone.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes before dinner.” Mineo looked back at Busmalis, “Make sure you tell him the rest of the rules over dinner, Busmalis.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it.” 

Mineo turned and walked away, and Xander started for his pod. 

Busmalis reached out as if to stop him but pulled back without touching him. “Sorry about that, Harris. There aren’t many more rules. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

Xander nodded and walked away. 

He wasn’t sure what was up with O’Reily. He’d seemed surprised that Xander came to Busmalis’ defense, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He was the big bad. He could do what he wanted, right? Jesus. He sure hoped he got this shit right. There sure wouldn’t be another chance. Once your reputation was set, it was practically impossible to get people to change their minds. He had to do it right the first time. 

He threw his stuff up on the top bunk while he made the bottom one. It was simple to make, and he put the sheets and the worn blanket on quickly. He was just straightening up to grab his pillow when the door came open, and a dark haired guy with a scar across his right cheek walked in. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he frowned at Xander. 

“Top bunk’s mine.” 

This must be Alvarez. His voice was kind of scratchy, and not very loud, but Xander could feel the hostility in it. He grabbed his pillow and tossed it down onto the bottom bunk. 

“Not a problem.” There wasn’t much left. He fit it all into one armful, and dropped it on his bunk. “Pretty much every jail cell I’ve ever been in, the fight was over the bottom bunk, so I don’t have a problem taking that one.” He leaned his back against the bunk bed, his arms crossed over his chest. This guy could be trouble. He could see that right off. The danger practically shone out of his dark eyes, and Xander wondered how many men this guy had killed. He had no doubt there was more than one on that list, no matter what his rap sheet said. 

Alvarez let the door swing shut behind him and leaned against the Plexiglas wall. “I thought the same thing when I got here. But there’s definitely status attached to being on top, here in Oz.”

“Well, I’m not particularly concerned with what other people think of me.” 

That was a downright lie. But there was no need letting Alvarez know that he had no idea what the hell he was doing. He took another helping of big bad cool, straight from the source, and did his best to imitate Spike, without the accent, of course. 

“They can think whatever they want, as long as they stay the fuck out of my way.” That worked. The vampire was obnoxious as hell, but you had to respect his supreme ability to intimidate and impress. 

“I’m not sure I like having a serial killer sleeping in the same room as me.” Alvarez said it in the same tone as he said everything else, and Xander was impressed. He had the low, scratchy, Clint Eastwood cool going for him. That was hard to pull off, but he managed it well.

Unfortunately, that left the ball in Xander’s court, and why the hell was he thinking in tennis terms? In this place, he’d be better off thinking in terms of homicide versus assault and battery with extreme prejudice. 

“I have a feeling I’m not the only one with a deadly reputation. How many men have you killed, Alvarez?”

He wasn’t sure what he expected from a question like that, but it wasn’t a bark of laughter, bursting out of Alvarez like he hadn’t wanted to let it go. “Yeah, all right. You got me on that one. But I’ve only ever killed in self-defense, because I had no choice. Can you say that?”

If he was being honest, he could say that. As long as they were talking about humans. But bringing that up wasn’t likely to help him keep his rep, and besides, he wanted the inmates to think he _was_ the big bad serial killer – it might be the only thing to keep him alive in Oz. 

“How about I just tell you what I told Busmalis earlier. I don’t plan on killing anyone who doesn’t try to kill me first.” That got a raised eyebrow, but Xander got the idea he was a tougher sell than Busmalis. 

“I don’t really give a fuck about what the rest of them think, but I want to be able to close my eyes at night, and know the person I’m locked in with doesn’t have plans to kill me while I sleep. So I’m telling you that I don’t break my word. If I say I won’t kill you unless you try to kill me, then that’s exactly what I mean.”

Alvarez cursed in Spanish, but Xander got the idea that when he said loco, he was talking about himself, not Xander. “I may be crazy, but I’ll take your word on that. I don’t plan on killing you either, but if you try anything, all bets are off. That good enough for you?”

Xander stuck out his hand, and met Alvarez halfway across the floor. They shook hands, and Xander felt the drop in tension almost immediately. 

“You had anyone show you around?”

“Not much. I think Busmalis was too freaked out to do much more than squirm.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s a hell of a tunnel digger, but he’s got a yellow streak a mile wide.” Alvarez crossed to his trunk, and opened it, digging though it as they spoke.

“He digs tunnels? He didn’t mention that. Just bored me with pictures of his daughter.”

Alvarez pulled out a t-shirt, and slipped it over his head. “Yeah, he dug the tunnel I got out through.”

“What? You broke out for lunch then came back?” Xander leaned up against the metal desk that was attached to the wall.

“I was out for six months, man, but those sons of bitches caught me.”

Six months. Enough time to get the stink of prison out of his system before they caught him and brought him back. “Oh, man. That sucks.”

Alvarez looked outside. “Time to eat.” He pointed to the stuff on Xander’s bunk. “Throw that shit in your trunk and let’s get some grub.”

“You know, I’m hungry as hell, but I’ve been in jail before. I’m not likely to enjoy this, am I?”

“You got bad timing. Tonight’s mystery meat.”

“Aw, shit.”

Xander wasn’t sure why he hadn’t brought up the thing with the eyes, but he figured the less he talked about it, the better, until he was settled, anyway. Not like it really mattered, but he’d rather deal with one thing at a time. They’d all know sooner or later, no need to rush it.


	7. Chapter 7

“I was watching CNN this morning, and…”

“Priests have cable?” Sean interrupted. “What ever happened to the vow of poverty? Have you no shame?”

“Oh, very funny.” Ray said. “You’re not getting away with it, Sean, you’re going to listen to this, if I have to follow you home tonight and whisper it in your ear while you sleep.”

“Father Mukada, I barely know you!” He cried, holding his sweat pants to his bare chest as if in shock. 

Ray just rolled his eyes and ignored Sean, which was what he had in mind. He knew what Ray was going to talk about; it was all over the news last night as well. He didn’t want to have to deal with it, but he supposed they’d end up hashing it out, eventually. They always did. He watched as Ray pulled his sneakers on, and sighed. Might as well get it over with. “You’re talking about that new gang in L.A., aren’t you?” 

Ray looked up excitedly. “Yes. I am. The one called Los Hermanos Lobo. I’m telling you, Sean, something really odd is happening in Los Angeles, and everyone is ignoring it like it doesn’t exist.”

“That’s because it doesn’t exist. There may be a dangerous new gang, but they are not composed of werewolves!”

“Maybe not, but you have to admit, the video footage is frighteningly realistic.” 

Sean huffed his laughter, frustrated at the crap Ray was swallowing, but he just kept talking.

“I know you find this difficult to believe, but I _know_ the supernatural exists. I’m not talking about God, here, I’m talking about devils and demons and things that go bump in the night. I’ve seen an exorcism performed with my own eyes, and I know demons exist!”

“Ray, you know I believe in God, but you will never get me to believe in werewolves, and that is my final word on that subject.”

“I believe in werewolves.” Phelan dropped her gym bag on the bench next to her locker.

“Andrea!”

“Hey, Father. You talking about those lunatics in L.A.?”

Surprised that she agreed, Sean spoke up. “They are lunatics, aren’t they?”

“Hell yeah, letting a werewolf bite them just so they can belong to some gang? Those people are batshit crazy. What the hell are they thinking?”

“I agree.” Ray was happy to hear someone take his side of the argument.

“Oh, no!” Sean cried. “Don’t encourage him.”

“You believe in werewolves, Andrea?”

“Of course I do. My grandmother saw a werewolf once. She was a teenager. She hid, and it got distracted and ran off without hunting her down, but she swears it was a werewolf.”

“Was this in Jamaica?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, back before my family moved to New York.”

“You’re from Jamaica, Phelan? I didn’t know that.”

She nodded at Sean as she pulled on her sweats. “Yeah, my family moved to Queens when I was just a baby, but my brothers and sister grew up there.” She grinned. “I’m the baby of the family.”

“I’m on to you, Sean. You’re not changing the subject.”

The locker room door opened again, and Querns walked in. “What subject?”

“Don’t ask, Warden, please?” Sean asked.

“Werewolves.” Phelan grinned at Sean as she said it, laughing at his frown. “My grandmother saw one when she was 14.”

Querns shook his head. “There are no such things as werewolves. Andrea, I hate to break it to you, but your grandmother was mistaken.”

“No, she saw what she saw. I believe in the supernatural. It’s all around us. We just refuse to see it.”

“Exactly,” Ray agreed.

“You are all full of shit,” Querns announced. “Nothing personal, Father, but all the crap going on in L.A. is just the ravings of crack heads and lunatics – supernatural creatures are figments of other people’s imaginations.”

“And all those news reports on reliable stations like CNN?”

“Mass hallucinations.”

Ray shook his head sadly at their lack of imagination, but he changed the subject, rather than starting a fight. “I haven’t seen Gloria,” he said. “Should I give her a call and remind her it’s time for self-defense class?”

“Unfortunately, the infirmary is short handed today. Dr. Nathan has her hands full.” 

Just then, Tim blew in like a tornado, his gym bag falling off his shoulder, and papers scattering as he hunted for his workout clothes.

“Oh, hey, I guess I’m not late after all.”

“No,” Querns assured him. “You’re late. We’re all waiting for you. Hurry up and get your clothes changed.”

“Oh, right!” 

Tim started pulling off his tie, and Sean looked over at Phelan. A thought had been running through his head ever since Tim had mentioned Querns’ interest in dating her. With both Tim and Querns in the same room, this was the perfect opportunity to put them both in their place.

“Hey, Phelan, I heard that Billings over in Unit D asked you out last week, and you turned him down flat.”

“Hell yes, I did.” She grinned at Sean, then said, “Since my divorce, I’ve turned down half the clowns in this place.”

Querns smiled that slick, smarmy smile of his at her. “None of them have been good enough for you, have they?”

“Damn right. I refuse to date anyone stupid enough to work at Oswald.”

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. He shook his head and said, “Wait, you work at Oswald, too.”

She walked to the door, and took in the group of men before she replied. “I wouldn’t date myself, either.”

Sean burst out laughing as she walked out of the room. That woman always kept him in stitches. But Querns and Tim didn’t look too amused. Something occurred to him. “Hey, the Sister isn’t here today.”

“Lucky Sean.” Ray patted him on the shoulder on his way out the door. “Your bruises may get a break today.”

He walked into the training room, and there Sister Pete was, already in her sweats, a headband holding back her salt and pepper hair as she stretched.

“Hey, Sean!” She straightened up, and waved at him. “I got out of my last appointment early, so I came over to start my warm ups before everyone showed up. I should be more than ready for you today!”

Damn. 

Tim chuckled as he walked past. “Gonna be a fun day, today. Right, Sister?”

“You bet!”


	8. Chapter 8

Murphy was hounding him again. Xander sighed and slouched down in his chair some more. It was getting old. He hadn’t been in Oz but a week and a half, but being followed around like this was really annoying. He supposed he should just get used to it. It would probably be a while before people really accepted that he had no plans to murder them all in their sleep. Or while they were awake. Whichever.

He was playing cards with Alvarez, Beecher and O'Reily, while Rebadow and Busmalis sat at the next table over playing checkers. He wasn’t sure what Murphy was looking for. It most definitely wasn’t the brilliant conversation. The topic was Alvarez’ tats. He had a lot of them, and since he was wearing a wifebeater, you could see most of them, except for the writing across the small of his back. Xander only had one question.

“What the hell is that thing on your shoulder?” It had been bothering Xander for a week, now. It was some kind of tribal design, but he couldn’t decide if it was a bug, or an abstract symbol that was intended to confuse people. Both options were appealing, in their own way.

“It’s a cricket.”

“A cricket?” How about that. He’d been right, it was a bug.

O’Reily was just as surprised as Xander. “Why the fuck do you have a cricket on your shoulder?

Alvarez shrugged his shoulder, the one with the cricket on it. “It’s supposed to bring you good luck.”

Beecher smirked at him. “How’s that working out for you?”

He had a point. What with the whole prison thing Alvarez had going. Xander ran the fingers of his left hand over the rectangular block of red figures across the tattoo on his right forearm. It was a natural gesture, after three years of wearing the tat, and he hardly noticed he was doing it, most of the time.

“I’m still alive, ain’t I?” Alvarez smirked right back at Beecher.

Huh. Alvarez had a point, too.

“I want to know about your tattoo, Xander.”

Rebadow was the only one who called him Xander. It sounded odd after all the time of hearing Harris over and over again. Rebadow’s elbow was on his table, his chin in his hand, as he stared at Xander’s tat, his serene eyes alive with interest. He spoke so gently, and formally, always wearing his cardigan sweaters, that sometimes Xander had trouble remembering that he was a murderer twice over. 

Xander glanced down at his arm, and smoothed his hand over his tattoo. It was a part of him after all this time, he seldom thought about it. 

“Kicheko wawindaji.”

“What?” Alvarez laughed at that, and Beecher and O’Reily joined in.

“Is that Swahili?” Rebadow asked. “You got it when you were in Africa?”

“Yeah. The words he used were Swahili, since I couldn’t speak _his_ language, but the symbols aren’t, they’re Sandawe.”

“I don’t recognize that name.”

“The Sandawe are in Tanzania. They’re kind of overshadowed by the Maasi, but there are still a number of them living there. Kicheko wawindaji means The Hunter who Laughs.”

“That’s the red stuff? The blocks across the bottom?” Alvarez stared at the three half inch blocks of red. “You’re always rubbing that part, does it hurt or something?”

“Nah, it doesn’t hurt.” He adjusted his position to give everyone a better look. “The blocks aren’t writing. They’re symbols. But the old guy who inked them on my arm said that’s what they stood for.”

O’Reily laughed. “What the hell were you thinking, to let some guy just tattoo shit on your arm? They could mean anything.” 

“No. He wouldn’t have done that. I’d just brought his granddaughter’s remains back to the family to be buried. He was very respectful. He told me I had an animal spirit; a hunter, like me. I’m supposed to rub the symbols whenever I feel the need to be reminded that I’m brave, strong, and worthy.”

“Brave, strong, and worthy.” Beecher stared the tat, a frown creasing his brow. He didn’t say a lot, mostly he just sat, and took everything in. His face was pale and his eyes seemed deep, circled with dark shadows like he didn’t sleep a lot. He roomed with O’Reily, and Xander had seen him comforting Beecher after a nightmare more than once. He’d wondered if they were lovers. He’d have to ask Alvarez. Or Rebadow. Rebadow knew everything about the whole damn prison. But then he had an _in_. He was on a first name basis with God.

“That’s pretty powerful shit, Harris.” Alvarez ran his finger across the blocks. It felt strange when someone else did it.

“The original was just painted on with red ink. I had the marks made permanent in Zanzibar, and they added the hyena above it.”

“I thought that hyenas were scavengers, not hunters.” Busmalis squinted at the tattoo, as if he was having trouble seeing the hyena or something.

“What’s so brave and worthy about an animal that eats other animal’s leftovers?” O’Reily laughed. “They’re like vultures without wings, right?” 

“It depends on the hyena.” Xander was getting annoyed by O’Reily’s attitude. He was a sharp character, and was worth keeping track of, so being in the group that O’Reily considered his wasn’t such a bad thing. But he was pretty sure he knew everything, and didn’t like being told otherwise.

“Brown hyenas and the striped ones – those are both scavengers, they’ll eat anything they can find, no matter how old or rank. But the spotted hyena,” he rubbed his fingers across the image on his arm, “they’re different. They may not have the reputation of lions, but they’re the closest thing that lions have to competition, so lions keep a sharp eye out for them, and kill spotted hyena when they get the chance. They’re smaller than lions, but faster, so unless they’re working together, they stick to smaller prey like foxes, jackals, antelope, and gazelles, but when they work together, they can take out zebras, wildebeest, even buffalo. They’re hunters, fierce, and strong, and deadly.”

“That’s fascinating,” Rebadow said. “I had no idea.”

“What about you, Rebadow? You got any tats?” Xander felt uncomfortable being the center of attention, so he pushed the limelight over to shine on someone else.

“Me?” Rebadow smiled. “Oh, good heavens no, no tattoos for me. But Agamemnon has one.”

Busmalis’ eyes got very wide as everyone else’s eyes turned his direction. “Who me?”

“C’mon, Busmalis, let’s see it,” O’Reily said. 

“No, you can’t see it.” He looked around nervously, as if looking for a rock to crawl under. “Only my wife is allowed to see it.” He scowled at Rebadow. “Traitor.”


	9. Chapter 9

Sean watched Donaldson and Grant walk past, the two bikers’ curious eyes glued to Harris until they passed the table where he was sitting. The bikers and the Aryans had paid close attention to Harris since he first showed up. Within days of his arrival, he’d had the leaders of both groups sniffing around, trying to sort out exactly where he fit in the grand scheme of things. He’d been polite, but it had been clear from their body language that he had declined their offers of alliance. He’d seemed friendly enough with the bikers, but he obviously had no interest in the Aryans.

The Muslims had avoided him like the plague, and the Latinos and the Homeboys kept their distance as well. But then he didn’t have the ethnic heritage for any of those groups. The Wiseguys had approached him, since his dark hair and eyes could easily have indicated a connection to Italy, but nothing seemed to come of it, and they’d kept a polite but wary eye on him since. In the end, he’d stuck with Alvarez, O’Reily, and the rest of the group Tim had once labeled “The Others,” a catchall phrase that worked as well as any. They were the odds and ends that didn’t fit into any of the more structured ethnic, social or political affiliations. 

Harris was an enigma. He carried himself like a predator, and Sean had no doubt he would protect himself with deadly force if necessary. But even after all the hype in the news and the hours and hours worth of detailed and gruesome depictions of his crimes that Sean had waded through, he had trouble seeing Harris as a man who could commit the atrocious murders of which he was accused. Maybe it was _because_ of all the hype. How could anyone live up to the reputation of the monster they’d described? The Hunter had become a symbol of the anger and savage fury that human kind was capable of, but seldom set free; the demon hiding in everyone’s closet. 

In the week and a half that Harris had been there, he’d been in three altercations, that they knew of, at least. There were plenty of witnesses willing to say that he’d protected himself, and disengaged, unwilling to do more damage than was necessary to keep his opponents from trying again before the hacks arrived. Only one of the fights had been in Em City, and it was obvious that all three were the work of individuals trying to prove how tough they were by taking on The Hunter, and not that of an organized group. All three had ended up in the infirmary, and Harris had not, so hopefully he had proved his point, and there would be no more challengers.

Sean had been fascinated by the conversation earlier today. He’d love a chance to get a closer look at that tattoo of Harris’. The thing that struck him was how much emphasis Harris placed on the symbols on his arm. “Brave, strong and worthy” were not necessarily attributes he’d have guessed that a serial killer would find important, but then, most psychopaths had an inflated sense of their place in the world, so maybe to a killer, those words would make perfect sense. It didn’t sit right with Sean, though. Maybe he’d get a chance to talk to Ray about it later. The priest had a way of looking at things that challenged normal expectations, and cut right to the point.

At the moment, though, he was tempted to leave the room, just to get away from the terrible injustice being visited upon him, in the form of O’Reily and Busmalis trading bad jokes about wild animals. He still wasn’t sure how the conversation had degraded from a serious discussion on the mores of men living in prison to elephant jokes, but he was about ready to call uncle and surrender.

“Why do elephants have four feet?”

“Gee, O’Reily, I don’t know,” Busmalis played straight man, since none of the others would do it. “Why _do_ elephants have four feet?”

“Because in the animal kingdom, six inches just doesn't cut it.”

O’Reily got a chorus of moans and groans for that one, only Rebadow and Harris holding back. Rebadow rolled his eyes, but Harris just shook his head, and called for three cards, trying to keep the game going. Alvarez fed him his cards, and the game moved on.

“What do you call a guy with a sheep under one arm and a goat under the other?” Busmalis asked.

“A bisexual!” O’Reily jumped the gun on Busmalis, and you could tell the guy was disappointed. 

“Hey! That was my line.” 

“Gotta move faster than that, old man.” O’Reily took another look at his cards and shook his head. “Who the fuck dealt this crap?”

“It’s payback, man.” Alvarez smirked at him. “It’s what you get for the crap you’re dealing _us_.”

“Oh, yeah? Well here. Have some more,” he tossed Alvarez some cards, “and give me three back.” 

Alvarez shot them in O’Reily’s direction, and smiled wickedly at the group.

“Dealer takes two.” Alvarez barely glanced at his new cards before laying all five down on the table for everyone to see. “Three kings. Oh, yes. Read ‘em and weep, gentlemen, read ‘em and weep.”

There was a chorus of curses as cards got tossed into the middle. Beecher collected them, then started shuffling the deck. O’Reily gave the group an evil grin that Sean could have sworn belonged on the devil himself. That man was dangerous. 

“So, what did the guy in the big yellow hat do every time Curious George broke a glass or a plate?”

“Hey. I love that show.” The child in Busmalis was showing rather prominently today. 

O’Reily ignored him and proclaimed, “He spanked his monkey.” 

He got some actual laughter for that one, and O’Reily grinned widely.

“You’re defiling a wonderful children’s show. I’ll never be able to watch it again.”

Busmalis was such an odd duck. He could be so childlike and innocent, and then turn around and dig a tunnel right out of Oz. Twice. It was wise to remember why his nickname was ‘The Mole’.” But then, where did he go when he got out? Straight to Miss Sally’s house to stand under her window with a bouquet of flowers. Incredible.

“Curious George is a TV show? I thought it was a kid’s book.” Harris’s voice brought Sean back to the present. 

“It’s on PBS, Xander, you’re usually mopping floors when it comes on.”

Harris rubbed his shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

“You should go to the infirmary for that shoulder, man. Gloria will set you up with some pain killers.”

“I don’t need anything heavy, just some anti-inflammatories. This shoulder is all screwed up.”

“What happened to it? Did you get mauled by a lion while you were in Africa?” Busmalis asked. “Or maybe crushed by an elephant? Wait – I bet you were speared by a native who thought you were a white devil.” 

That had them all laughing.

“You’ve got a healthy imagination, there, Busmalis. No, I was in a motorcycle accident in Peru.”

“Peru? That’s not in Africa.” At least Busmalis knew his geography.

“I spent some time in South America. Didn’t stay too long. I’d had enough of rainforests in the fucking Congo.” 

“Peru,” Rebadow said, thoughtfully. “I always wanted to go to Machu Picchu. Did you visit, while you were there?”

Alvarez snorted. “Macho what? What language is that? It’s not Spanish.”

“No, it’s the language of the Andes before the Spanish showed up,” Rebadow told him. “I can’t remember the name of the language, but the Inca spoke it, and they named this city they built up in the mountains Machu Picchu.”

“I thought about going there, but I didn’t have time to get down to Machu Picchu before I had to meet up with the people that were giving me a ride back to the states.”

“Down? What is there above those ruins?” Rebadow asked.

“There are other ruins, older religions, the Inca weren’t the first people to live on that land, they just mixed the older gods in with theirs. I was at the site of an old earth mother religion, hundreds of years older than Machu Picchu.”

“And you just happened to find this place, and know exactly what it was?” O’Reily’s voice was challenging, but Harris didn’t seem to mind. It was like he didn’t expect to be believed, so it didn’t matter what O’Reily thought. 

Harris shrugged. “I don’t know that kind of shit. I just know what they told me.”

“They who?” O’Reily was keeping right on top of that, but that was like him. He always had to know everything about everything.

“The Inca incorporated older religions into their own, Ryan. I read about that somewhere.”

O’Reily let himself be distracted by Rebadow’s words. “Yeah, it was in National Geographic, Rebadow. I lent you my copy, couple of months ago.”

“You get National Geographic, O’Reily?” Harris sounded surprised.

“Yeah, what of it?” His tone was defensive, as if he expected some kind of derision.

But Harris surprised both O’Reily and Sean by asking, “Think I could borrow them when Rebadow is finished? Maybe we could work out an exchange or something – for wear and tear.”

“Yeah, all right,” O’Reily said carefully. “We could do that.” He frowned at Harris, like he wasn’t sure what he was up to, but Sean had a feeling it was straight up, he just wanted to look at them. With as many places as Harris had been, maybe he got a bug for travel, and now he missed it. 

He wondered if that was why O’Reily was giving Harris such a hard time. He was jealous of all the places Harris had been. O’Reily had always intended to travel, but he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a long time, now. That had to hurt.

“Locos. Estáis todos locos.” Alvarez pointed out Rebadow, O’Reily and Harris, designating them as the ones he considered crazy. “What do you want with National Geographic? Monkeys and fish, and trees and shit.” Alvarez was another one who hadn’t gotten far. He bet they were all jealous of the places Harris had been, Sean knew _he_ was. “You need to tell Suzanne to bring you magazines with plenty of fine looking mamas. Now that’s worth reading.” 

“I’m not letting my mother bring me skin mags. You’re the one who’s crazy. At least he’s been somewhere.” O’Reily turned his vicious tongue onto Alvarez. “You never made it past the Mexican border.”

Sean cringed. That had to hurt. It was probably a real sore point for Alvarez, reminding him that when he escaped through Busmalis’ tunnel, he got caught at the border of Mexico.

“Shut up, O’Reily.” Alvarez stared at O’Reily sullenly.

“You gonna make me, Alvarez?” O’Reily said with a smirk.

Beecher took that moment to make his presence known. He stood up and slammed his hands down onto the table, knocking the cards he’d stacked earlier all over the surface. 

“Mary had a little sheep  
With this sheep  
She went to sleep  
The sheep turned out to be a ram  
And Mary had a little lamb.”

Damn. That was not a good sign. Beecher had a strong streak of crazy in him. He’d been pretty crazy when they first got back from Lardner, where they’d waited out the cleanup of that deadly white powder of Keller’s. According to Tim, he’d been as crazy then as when Tim had first met him. Vern Schillinger, the head of the Aryan Brotherhood, had pragged him - raped him, turned him into Schillinger’s bitch - and when he got tired of him, he set Beecher free wearing a Confederate flag, expecting the Homeboys in the common room to kill him as soon as they saw it. Beecher had gone off the deep end then, and come near to blinding Schillinger. 

The first sign of Beecher’s insanity was always the rhymes. When he started talking in rhymes, you wanted to step back, or you might just find yourself with a face full of shit. The rest of the men sitting there all recognized the symptoms, except for Harris. They froze in shock, one or two of them might have even gasped. Sean tensed, unsure what had set him off, but ready for whatever he tried. 

In the quiet, he realized that there were other voices raised in anger, and he turned warily to see what was going on. Half the men in front of the TVs were yelling at each other, standing up and shouting in each other’s faces - arguing loudly. He couldn’t make out what the fuss was about, but if it got much louder, there might be trouble. 

Sean judged this the larger problem, and set the Beecher situation aside for now, heading to the TVs. He met up with Armstrong, and Mineo, and he sent them around, so they surrounded the men on three sides – the bank of TVs blocked the fourth. Several of those who weren’t arguing were slowly backing away from the fracas, but they froze when they saw the C.O.s. Sean gestured to Hassel and Vawsner with his head, telling them to get the hell out of the way, and they practically fled to their pods. 

He wasn’t sure what to do. They weren’t actually fighting, there were no fists flying or any shoving - some were standing, others sitting, but they were all talking animatedly. There were easily a dozen of them, over half were bikers or Homeboys and the others an assorted collection of guys with no real connection to each other. Finally he just put his fingers to his lips and whistled. Most of them turned his direction, and he motioned to them with both arms. 

“Clear it out. All of you. I don’t want to see anyone in front of the TVs for ten minutes. Move it! Go!”

They broke apart, mumbling at each other, and Sean, but he just shouted, “I don’t want to hear it. No arguments. Go, now!” They left, dropping their headphones, spreading out across the common room, some heading to their bunks. 

He spoke quietly to his C.O.s, but none of them had been close enough to see what had set them off. One bad thing about those damn headphones, in Sean’s opinion, was that it was hard to tell what the inmates were reacting to. They kept the noise down in front of the TVs, but they isolated the inmates from the C.O.s., and that could be frustrating. He warned his men to keep alert, and went back to his spot to check on Beecher, just in time for O’Reily to snag Poet and ask him what had happened.

It was plain to see Poet was unsettled. He was jittery, and nervous, and his dark skin was sheened with sweat. “You know those bikers, right? The L.A. ones, the werewolves?”

Alvarez nodded. “Los Hermanos Lobo.” 

“Yeah, that’s them. There’s rioting and all kinds of bad shit’s going down. It’s tearing L.A. to shreds. They go out howling at the moon and shit, and the Chicanos are freaking, right? They called truce with both the Crips and the Bloods, to protect themselves and their hoods. There was real live fucking wolves prowling the streets, last night, man. _Wolves_. Walking upright like a man, but with fur all over their faces. The gangs were all out in South Central, with mortars, and anti-tank grenades, and flame throwers…. It’s a fucking _war_ zone.”

“My God!” Rebadow brought one hand to his lips.

“Yours and everybody elses’ God, man. Half the bros are screaming that there’s no such thing as werewolves, and the other half yelling back that they’re the real deal. Everybody’s spooked that they’ll be coming here next.”

“Here?” Busmalis sounded panicked. 

“East coast, man. They’re taking over the West coast now, the East coast is where it’s all happening. They’ll come here, next. No doubt.”

“Well what do we do?” The others looked around at Busmalis’ question; nobody had any answers.

“Ain’t nothing we can do, unless you got keys to this place tucked away somewhere. What don’t make no sense to me is why there were wolves out _last_ night, when the full moon is _tonight_.” 

“That’s right!” O’Reily said. “Werewolves are only supposed to turn furry on the full moon.”

“No, the moon affects werewolves three nights in a row, not just one,” Harris announced casually.

“What?” “Huh?” “What did you say?” 

Everyone turned to him at once, and Harris froze for a moment. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah, you said it.” O’Reily jumped on this. “So you believe in werewolves?” Another thing to criticize Harris about. If he wasn’t careful, O’Reily was going to find himself in hot water. O’Reily may not be one to cross lightly, but Sean got the feeling that Harris was another.

Harris straightened his back, as if expecting that people wouldn’t believe him, but he talked, anyway. “Yeah. They’re real.”

“Don’t tell me,” O’Reily said sarcastically. “You’ve seen one. Were you drunk at the time?”

Harris shook his head. “I don’t drink, O’Reily. I don’t do drugs, either. And I’ve definitely seen werewolves.”

“In Africa?” Busmalis didn’t seem to have any trouble believing him. But then he had a small case of hero worship going, so he’d probably believe it if Harris said the tooth fairy wiped his ass on a daily basis.

“No. I never saw a werewolf in Africa. But I saw several in California.”

“Now see, I _know_ that’s bullshit, because you were already in jail by the time El Hombres ‘Loco’,” he intentionally mispronounced the name, “started making themselves famous in L.A.”

O’Reily was looking much too smug, and Sean was worried that Harris would wipe that smile off his face. O’Reily was scrappy, but Harris was solid, with broad shoulders, and had a good thirty pounds on him. 

“No,” he said calmly. “I saw them when I was in High School.”

“High school? Oh, wait! You dated one, right?” O’Reily was grinning widely.

Harris grinned right back at him. “Oh, no. My girlfriend was a cheerleader, not a werewolf.” He stopped for a second and thought. “Although, come to think of it, there were some definite similarities in attitude. Cordelia had better hair, though.”

“Were you attacked? What happened?” Busmalis was already caught up in the story.

“My friend got bit. Once we figured out he was the one killing off all the neighborhood cats and dogs, we just kept him in a cage from sundown to sun up for the three days around the full moon, and he was fine the rest of the month.”

“You just happened to have a werewolf cage handy?” Sean was glad that Alvarez had asked that question, since it would have seemed funny coming from him.

“Well, it doubled as a book cage on school days, but it worked just fine for holding a werewolf.”

“Book cage?” Rebadow asked. “Where was this?”

“In the high school library. Our adviser, who was kind of a father figure to us all, was the librarian. We spent a lot of time in the library.”

“Really?” Rebadow was tapping his lips with his finger, deep in thought. “So you were aware of the paranormal as a child?”

“I dusted my first vampire at the age of fifteen.”

Sean was surprised that Harris didn’t seem at all proud of that accomplishment. Not that Sean believed him. There were no such things as vampires or werewolves.

“I don’t believe you.” That was a flat out challenge from O’Reily.

“That’s okay, O’Reily. You don’t have to. I doubt very much that any supernatural creature is stupid enough to try and break _into_ prison, which means you’re not likely to ever meet one. It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not.”

That was a definite insult to O’Reily, dismissing his lack of belief in Harris as unimportant. Sean could see that O’Reily got it, but he didn’t say anything. He’d have to keep an eye on O’Reily. He held on to grudges. 

“My grandfather believed in them,” Alvarez told them. “Before he got Alzheimer's, I got to talk to him a couple of times. He told me about living in Cuba when he was a kid. He believed in all that shit.”

Harris nodded. “The closer a person is to their roots; the easier it is for them to believe.”

“Yeah, my aunt believes in all that shit, too.” Poet was staring at Harris, kind of surprised at what he was hearing. Sean had no doubt that the Homeboys would know all about this conversation by this time tomorrow.

“Arnold, you should write a…”

Whatever Rebadow intended to say to Poet was cut off by Mineo’s loud shout of: “Cooooount!” 

How he made a one syllable word stretch out for four syllables, Sean would never know, but he’d made it Mineo’s official duty to announce count, because no one said it the way Mineo did. 

As usual, everyone froze for one second before they started putting up their games, pulling off their headphones, and heading to their pods to line up and be counted before they were locked up for the night.

As the group he’d watched all evening broke up and headed to their pods, Harris said, “Hey, O’Reily.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you get if you cross a werewolf and a hyena?”

The look of shock on O’Reily’s face was classic. Sean wished he’d had a camera. 

“What?” 

Sean thought that O’Reily’s question was more a matter of surprise than the usual call and response of the joke. Harris took it as the question he was looking for, though.

“I don’t know, but if it laughs, you should probably join in.”

Sean fought back his smile, but the whole bunch of them cut loose with loud cackles and whoops. It wasn’t that funny a joke, but coming from Harris, it took them all by surprise, and freed them up to let go and act like loons. They were still chuckling when the locks snapped into place, and shut them all in for the night.


	10. Chapter 10

“345.01, 345.0253, 345.0238 – Oh, wait. That belongs _before_ .0253. 345.02530269, .02530269, 69, 69, 69… Heh heh heh - sixty-nine, 345.02532, 345.0504, 345.052, 345.056, .056, .056, .056, .056, .056, .056… Ouch.”

“What are you doing, Xander?” Stella Coffo came out from the back room with a cup of coffee. 

She sat at the desk, keeping a fair amount of distance between herself and Xander. He wasn’t surprised. It was going to take her time to warm up to him, if she ever did. She wasn’t a stuffy librarian like Giles, but she had her moments when her frustration slipped through, and he could tell she wanted to throttle every literature teacher who had ever given up on these men. 

From what Rebadow said, she was a bit jaded after four years of Oz, and you could see that even she no longer believed she could reach them all. But Xander had to give it to her, she was determined to give anyone who showed the _smallest_ inclination of an interest in reading all the chances in her power to learn to love the written word. 

Xander had learned to love a good book in Africa where TVs were rare and far between – at least when he was in the wild, on the trail of a Slayer. His interests lay in the direction of scifi, cheap mysteries, and action/adventure, but they’d kept him from going insane on more than one continent, so he wasn’t going to be ashamed of his taste in books.

Ms Coffo and Rebadow went off into another world, from time to time, quoting their favorite poems at each other, and sighing as they gazed into each other’s eyes. But Xander thought maybe they were happy keeping their relationship platonic. He got the idea that they were both more in love with romance, and romantic literature, than they were with each other. 

At the moment, though, she was staring at him, waiting for an answer to her question.

“Oh, umm. I’m putting the books you wanted me to reshelf in order, so I won’t have to wander back and forth the whole time, but I’m reading the spines as I go. I figure if I can sort out which books get borrowed the most it will come in handy when I’m helping people. You said the most important part of my job is helping everyone find something they’d want to read, so…” He let his sentence die off before he started to wonder why she was asking. “Why, am I taking up too much time?” 

Xander knew she was uncomfortable with his working in the library, but she trusted Rebadow, and he’d pushed her to give him a chance until finally she’d agreed. The last thing he wanted to do was give her a reason to get rid of him.

“No, no.” She seemed a little surprised. “I think that’s an excellent idea. You can better help the men who come in looking for a book, if you have an idea of what they’re looking for.” 

She paused, and he could tell she wanted to say something, but it took her a few moments to work up her courage to ask.

“You were laughing at something…”

“Oh, right. I noticed how many law books you have on the shelves, and I guess that makes sense, with guys trying to appeal their convictions, and all, but the criminal law numbers, here…” He touched the ones on the cart he was supposed to reshelf. He hesitated. He didn’t want to seem rude, but it had been hard not to laugh out loud.

“The 345s?” 

It took him a moment to figure out what she was saying, and he was looking right at the books, but finally he realized that she knew what number the criminal law books were kept under in the Dewey Decimal System. Wow, way to out Giles _Giles_. 

“Right, the 345s. I kinda noticed a few trends…”

“Go ahead.”

“Well, I don’t want to offend you or anything…”

“That’s fine. I’m not as easily offended as you might think.”

“Okay. Well, the 345.02530269s...” He had to read the number off the spine of a book, and he wondered if she knew what that number stood for. “We had five of them, so they caught my eye…”

“Yes, we have a lot of men asking for law books on sex crimes, but I don’t see what…”

“Sixty-nines?” he said, trying to fight back his grin. “Sex crimes are designated with a sixty-nine?”

She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. Then she opened it again and let out a very unladylike bark of laughter. Her eyes got very wide, and she slapped her hand over her mouth, but her shoulders were shaking. She took a couple of deep breaths, as she blinked rapidly, and finally spoke. 

“I never, in all my years in the library, ever made that connection.”

“I think guys are wired differently, you know? I was always that way, too, with my friends. My two best friends were women, well, girls when we were in high school together, but I was a teenage boy, and I thought about sex all the time. I’m pretty sure it’s a guy thing.”

He could see she was thinking about that more than he’d really intended her to. He was blabbing like crazy, and he’d promised himself he’d be the big bad - silent and scary enough to keep all the tough guys in Oz from gravitating his way. But here he was blathering on about sex, which he could imagine was a worrisome topic for a women working in a men’s prison. Thank goodness the Davraad had not been a sex freak. Too many demons with compatible body types, or like the Davraad, who could hijack a human’s body and use it as their own, used sex and rape as a form of coercion, or terror, to keep women, and men, in line. 

But the Davraad were sexless creatures whose reproductive cycle was completely devoid of contact, and this one, at least, had shown absolutely no interest in using sex as a terroristic act. That was something he’d been grateful for all through the wait in jail for his court date, the trial, the sentencing, everything. Rapists were pretty low on the totem pole in jail, just above child molesters, which was pretty much the bottom rung on the ladder. So although her eyes showed that the thoughts were there, she wasn’t letting her imagination run away with her. 

He looked down, trying to come up with something to change the subject. Oh, look: 345.056 – just what he needed. “You want to know which number was checked out most in the 345s?”

She smiled at him a little shakily, but sincerely, like she knew he was making an effort to put her at ease, which he was, so he was glad she noticed.

“345.056, the rights of suspects. That’s what I was laughing at when you came out. Every other book from the 345s was another book on a suspect’s rights.”

“Well, that makes a lot of sense, now doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does. And now I’ll know just where to go when they ask about those rights. If I ever get them shelved, that is. So maybe I should go do that now.”

“Good idea.”

He trundled off with his cart of books, and headed toward the criminal law section. It wasn’t hard to find. The books were all large and cumbersome, and if they’d smelled like mildew and dust, he’d have felt like he was back at Sunnydale High. If it weren’t for all the inmates. Aside from Faith, they hadn’t really had a lot of actual _criminals_ in their ranks, even though Principal Snyder had tried to stick Buffy with a large number of offenses, up to and including murder. 

Xander had to admit, he’d done a few things that might have been considered bad, if he hadn’t been doing them for a good cause. Like the rocket launcher. Xander had broken into the Army Base for that one. Oh yeah, that might have gotten them all into trouble if the police had ever raided the library, Giles’ apartment, or later on, the Magic Box. That and the swords, and the axes, hatchets, knives, and other bladed weapons, not to mention the medieval weaponry they kept on hand. Wow. They’d been pretty damn _bad_ , for good guys. 

The sound of paper ripping made him look around in surprise. That was never a good sound in a library, and he should know. He’d torn the corners off more than one already damaged volume of forgotten lore in his day. Accidentally, of course. But this rip was not accidental; the asshole who’d ripped the page out was now calmly folding it in half, making a paper airplane out of a page of a book. 

Xander acted on instinct. Two steps, and he was behind the guy. The smack upside the head was pure Giles; following in his father-figure’s footsteps. He felt he understood what Giles had gone though all those years ago, when he’d done his best to smack a little sense into Xander. He had learned his lesson: there was no hiding Doritos smudges, chocolate smears, or the occasional patch of drool from a sleeping boy’s mouth on the pages of centuries old, original copies of irreplaceable texts. 

It hadn’t been a hard smack, but the response had been immediate. The guy jumped up before he turned around.

“Hey!”

His eyes got wide when he realized who it was that had just smacked him. He tried to back up a step, and ended up sitting on the edge of the table, leaning back, over the book he’d defiled.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“Huh?”

“I said get the fuck out. And if I ever see you damage another book, I won’t stop with a gentle smack on the head. Got it?”

The guy wasn’t much shorter than Xander, although definitely of a lighter build. Xander knew that didn’t actually mean anything though, he could easily get his ass handed to him, if he wasn’t careful. He’d learned a lot about fighting in the last four years. He’d no longer had Buffy and Willow there to keep him out of trouble, so he’d had to learn to take care of himself. He used as many dirty tricks as he remembered from Spike, or had learned the hard way in Africa, and he got by, but he knew he’d been lucky since he got here. That kind of luck couldn’t hold.

Fortunately, it looked like his luck wasn’t going to run out today. The guy practically growled at him, but Xander wasn’t impressed. He’d had lots of beings growl at him, and most of them had been scarier than this bastard. He took another step closer, and the guy slid off the table and scrambled toward the exit. Once he was out of reach, Xander grabbed the book and the ripped out page, and headed up to the desk. 

There was Murphy, standing with Ms Coffo, and it looked like they’d seen the whole thing. Fuck. Way to stay out of trouble, Xander.

He came to a halt in front of the desk. He handed the book, and the folded page, to Ms Coffo. “Um. I think I kinda kicked the bastard out.”

She smiled at him grimly. “I would hope so. I’ll speak to his Unit Admin this afternoon. He won’t be coming back.”

She hadn’t said a word about the smack, or the physical aggression, which was a relief. He didn’t expect Murphy to grant him the same kind of reprieve. He’d made the first move, he’d probably get sent to AdSeg. He’d heard a lot about The Hole since he’d gotten here. From what they’d said, it had always been a dank, nasty place, but since the Warden had added that chair, and kept them all strapped into it 24/7 for their entire stay, The Hole had taken on entire new levels of hell. 

He looked at Murphy. No sense putting it off. 

Murphy stared back at him, arms crossed. “From now on, you let the hacks do the disciplining, or you’re likely to end up in The Hole. You got that?”

Xander nodded, shocked that he’d gotten off that easily.

“Ms Coffo here asked me to go easy on you, since you were protecting one of her precious books. And you didn’t get overly aggressive. If you’d punched the guy out, that would be different, but one tap on the head can be overlooked, just this once.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Murphy nodded. “See that it doesn’t.”

“So was that your father figure?” Ms Coffo asked.

“What?” He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. 

“The father figure librarian Robert told me about. Is he the one who smacked you on the head for damaging his books?”

Oh, that. He blushed, which was really not very big bad. “I deserved it. I was notorious for accidentally dropping Twinkies cream all over the pages of a book, or smudging them with Doritos dust.”

“You were a teenage boy. At that age, snack foods are one of the main food groups, to be inhaled every time you stop moving.” She smiled at Xander sweetly, the first time she’d done so, and he grinned back. 

“I wish you’d been around to tell that to Giles.”

“I do too. But it looks like the two of you managed all right.”

“We got by.”

“Well, hurry up and finish that cart. Officer Murphy says you have ten more minutes before dinner.”

“Oh, joy. It’s beans and franks night. Be still my beating heart.”

Murphy frowned at him, but Xander thought it was because he was trying to hide a smile. “Get outta here.”

“Yes, sir!”

He turned back to his cart, wiping the smile off his face, so the inmates wouldn’t know he’d been fraternizing with the enemy. Besides, he was the big bad, and big bads didn’t smile. Often.


	11. Chapter 11

Sean leaned back into Ray’s chair and stared at the computer, dazed. He’d had terrible luck finding anything serious on werewolves, or full moons, at the beginning. But once he admitted to Ray what he was looking for, he’d pointed Sean in a different direction, and surprisingly enough, he was coming up with a lot of serious research on the subject. Who would have expected that the best resource for info on werewolves would be the Roman Catholic Church? Ray had reminded him that the Catholic Church had been a very large influence on tracking down supernatural creatures since the Middle Ages. 

Not just werewolves, but vampires, ghosts, witches, sorcerers, and demons, as well. It didn’t surprise him that they’d been interested in that kind of thing way back then, but the fact that they were still involved in exorcisms, and hunting demons today was a bit more than he’d been prepared for. But then, now that he thought about it, he had to wonder exactly where you drew the line. It’s okay to believe in a God you can’t see or touch, and Satan as well, but it’s not okay to imagine Satan’s envoys coming to earth to try and tempt more souls into hell? And if they could come to earth to tempt humans, why couldn’t they possess humans, and require an emissary from Heaven to cast those demons out? 

If you accepted all that, it was just one step further to believing that there are ghosts whose souls hadn’t made it to heaven, hell or purgatory yet that wandered the Earth. Another step past that, and witches and sorcerers could not only make deals with the Devil, but they could cast spells on humans to turn them into werewolves or other supernatural beings, and suddenly the world was populated with creatures you’d never believed existed. Sean definitely believed in Heaven and Hell, so who was he to say the rest didn’t exist? 

Ray had set Sean on this course, and then disappeared into solitary to offer the inmates Communion, which according to the Catholic Church was the transubstantiated body and blood of Christ. And Sean never doubted that was really Christ’s body they ate, and blood they drank, so what right did he have to say that Ray’s beliefs, and Harris’, weren’t real? There was a huge difference to Sean, though, and it didn’t matter whether he wanted to understand their beliefs or not, he found himself unable to accept them. He wanted to talk to Ray about it; he’d figured out a long time ago that Ray was capable of making a lot of things make sense that on his own, Sean wasn’t able to grasp. But he wasn’t going to track him down in solitary to have a discussion on the supernatural.

Besides, it was almost time to pick up Harris; he had an appointment with Sister Pete. She usually saw inmates the first week that they arrived in Oz, but Querns had asked her to hold off a few weeks, so Harris could adjust to the prison and his surroundings before she saw him. She’d agreed, so he’d been here almost three weeks already, and was just now visiting her. Sean would love to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. He’d have to talk to Sister Pete about all this at some point. He was curious as to her perspective. He had a feeling that she wouldn’t be as receptive to the idea of the supernatural as Ray was.

But then Ray constantly surprised him. When Sean had first told Ray that he was homosexual, Ray didn’t bat an eye. He said he’d wondered if that might be the case, and went on to caution Sean about the way he stared at Tim. He was right, Sean knew that; he’d had an overwhelming obsession with Tim McManus for years. There for a while after high school, they’d drifted apart – Tim went to college and grad school, and landed a fancy job with the state, while Sean had stayed behind in Attica and followed in the family’s footsteps, becoming a C.O. at the famed prison. 

But when Tim had asked him to come to Oswald, the two had fallen right back into their old ways again, and Sean had fought hard not to show Tim the way he felt. Having a friend like Ray to talk to had helped a lot. In the last two or three years, Sean’d come a long way toward conquering his childhood obsession, and developing a true friendship with Tim. Ray had encouraged him to tell Tim about his sexual orientation, but he figured he’d wait until he had some reason to tell him. If he ever found a partner, Tim would be the first to know. 

He laughed as he turned off Ray’s computer. Okay, the second to know. Ray had urged Sean to try and find someone he could spend his life with, but so far, that hadn’t happened. But if he did, he had a feeling Ray would be the first to find out. He’d probably be able to read it on Sean’s face, before Sean said a word. He was good at that. Sean teased Ray, said he was trying to live vicariously through Sean, but in reality, he knew that Ray just wanted to see him happy. Sean was lucky to have two such good friends.

He stretched, his back stiff from sitting in Ray’s office chair his entire lunch hour. Since he was right there at the cafeteria, maybe he’d pick up Harris from lunch, instead of waiting until they took him back to Em City. It would get him to Sister Pete’s a few minutes early, but maybe he could spend that time talking to Harris. Sean had a few questions for him, now that he had a better grasp on this whole werewolf thing. 

The sound of voices raised in anger was one he was used to, but it always pumped up his adrenaline, and set him on high alert. He headed for the door; it sounded like there was a fight right there in the cafeteria. The first thing he saw was a group of five or six Aryan inmates from Unit B yelling and shoving at each other in the food line. The C.O.s were all focused on that, and it looked like a set up, because on the other side of the room, Hearny, the idiot Harris had kicked out of the library a couple of days ago, was using the opportunity to sneak up on Harris. He wasn’t sure if Hearney had figured this out or not, since Harris seemed to have been able to keep it a secret so far, but he was coming up on Harris’ blind side; there was no way he would see Hearney coming.

Sean shouted Harris’ name, hoping he’d look around and see Hearney, but there was too much noise in the room. Sean took off running, but he knew there was no way he’d get to Harris in time. He saw Phelan, over in the food line, directing Wright to come to Murphy’s aid, but he wouldn’t get there in time, either. 

As Hearney came up on him, Harris suddenly turned, and was able to deflect the hand with a shank in it, knocking the shank free, and sending it skidding across the floor in Sean’s direction. Sean bent down to retrieve it, worried that someone else would pick it up, and when he came back up again, Harris had Hearney by the collar of his shirt. While Sean raced to stop him, Harris punched Hearney twice in the face, to the cheers of most of the crowd in the cafeteria. The Aryans were not usually well loved by many, so seeing Harris punching one gave them all a cheap thrill. 

Wright grabbed Hearney, just as Sean pulled Harris away. He cuffed Harris, but he didn’t put up any fight, just went where Sean shoved him, his mouth in a hard line, like he expected to get blamed for this. If Sean hadn’t seen the whole thing, he probably would have been, so he couldn’t blame the guy for his attitude. Harris relaxed somewhat when he heard Sean tell Phelan that he’d seen Hearney pull a shank on Harris while his back was turned. Hearney didn’t help his own case, screaming that it was all Harris’ fault for kicking him out of the library, but Phelan had already read the report on that, so she knew the score. 

She sent Hearney _and_ the four jokesters responsible for the distraction to AdSeg, to the cheers of those in the room, and that, at least, brought a grim smile to Harris’ face. It wouldn’t hurt his rep any that, once again, Harris had managed to escape a shanking with no more than a set of swollen knuckles. Sean waited until he got Harris out into the hall, and away from the crowd, before uncuffing him. The last thing he needed was to get a reputation as a brown nose. They had enough trouble keeping the assholes from trying to take him down, now. 

It looked like the constant tension was finally getting to him. Sean wasn’t surprised. Sooner or later all the newbies had a hissy fit of some sort, and the anger in Harris’ eye was plain to see. 

“Harris. You need to calm down.”

“I’m calm,” he said tensely, “I didn’t kill the guy, did I? See? Calm.” But his eye was wild and anything but.

Sean pushed him into the nearest stairwell, where they were less likely to be disturbed, and shoved him face first into the wall. He was shaking with anger, and Sean knew if he took Harris to see Pete now, there would be all kinds of repercussions. 

“Harris. Harris! Listen to me!” 

He was muttering to himself, and Sean couldn’t understand a word of it. He wasn’t sure it was even English.

“You’ve got to get a grip on yourself, Harris, I’m not taking you in to meet Sister Pete until you do.” 

He finally collapsed up against the wall, letting it hold him up. “Yeah, all right. Give me a minute, okay?” 

His voice still sounded angry, but not as angry as Sean had thought he was, so he backed off a little, and gave Harris some room. 

He went back to the mumbling he’d been doing before, and Sean was positive now that it wasn’t in English. It didn’t sound like any language he’d ever heard before. He watched Harris closely, and little by little, his body relaxed until he was quiet, leaning up against the wall, his forehead on the cinderblock. Finally he took a deep breath and turned around, and Sean was surprised to see that he’d conquered his anger, and his eye was calm.

“What was that you were saying just now?”

He shrugged, as if uncomfortable talking about it. “It’s just something my friend Giles taught me.”

“The father figure librarian?”

“Yeah, that’s him. It’s just – kind of a chant to help me relax, and chill out.”

“Yeah, well it worked. What language was that?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m okay now.”

“So does that have anything to do with all that crap you were throwing at those guys last week? About werewolves and hyenas?”

Harris smiled grimly. “So you _were_ listening in. I thought so. Learn anything new?”

Sean nodded slowly. “I did. I learned quite a bit, actually.”

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

Harris laughed at Sean’s grimace. “That’s okay; you don’t have to believe me. I’m used to it.”

“You’ve been telling that shit to people for years, huh?”

“Actually, no. Up until recently, I’ve kept quiet about it all, but as they say in the song, ‘The times, they are a-changing.’ I may not go telling secrets that need to stay secret, but there are more supernatural creatures making themselves known every day, and if what I say can save some guy’s life because he listened to me when I told him how to kill a vampire, then I think it’s worth the trouble I go to.”

Sean picked up on what seemed like to him the pertinent information in that speech. “What kind of secrets?”

Harris rolled his eye. “What part of the phrase, ‘not telling secrets,’ did you miss, Murphy? Cause I’m not telling, okay?”

“Does it have anything to do with why you spent a year and a half in Africa, in the middle of more than one warzone?”

“Yeah,” Harris nodded, “that’s part of the secret stuff I’m not telling. But ask me anything about any other supernatural creatures, and I’ll be glad to fill you in on whatever you want to know.”

“You believe in all of it? Witches, zombies, banshees, fairies,” Sean was ready to stop the list, but Harris kept nodding, so he kept going, “ghosts, vampires, mermaids… You can stop me any time.”

Leaning up against the wall, Harris struck a casual pose. “When you get to something that doesn’t exist, I will.”

“Funny.”

“Not really. Although I have to admit, I’ve never seen a mermaid, but I’ve heard about creatures that match the description of a mermaid, so I’m not counting them out.” He narrowed his eye as he took in Sean’s face. “I think the Irish made up leprechauns, though. Murphy. Is that an Irish name?”

“No changing the subject,” Sean said. “So you’ve seen all of these creatures yourself, have you?

“Yeah, I have. I’d tell you all about it, but it’s obvious you’re not going to believe me. So I’m just going to remind you, in case it ever comes up, that the way to kill a werewolf is to get silver in his blood stream, it’s poison to them, and it kills them instantly – and no, it doesn’t have to be a bullet, but you don’t have to get as close to kill them with a gun, as opposed to a knife, so bullets are always a good choice for werewolves.”

Sean started to tell him what he thought, but Harris didn’t give him a chance. 

“Bullets don’t work for everything, though. For instance, they’ll only piss a vampire off. Vamps go down to wood through the heart. Of course, if you cut the head off of either, that will do the same thing. Beheading works for most everything you’ll run up against out there.”

“Most? Not everything?”

“Nope. There are creatures out there that will not be happy to have their heads removed, but it won’t kill them. However, it seems like most of what we’re seeing on the news these days are the demons that can pass as human, at least most of the time. For now, you should be okay with a beheading. Keep your axe sharp, though. Some of those buggers have tough skins, or even scales that a blade will slide right off of.” 

He couldn’t stand the crap he was getting fed a minute longer, so he crowded in on Harris, poking his finger into his chest. “You’re full of shit, Harris.”

“Of course I am.” He nodded his head, a smile lurking behind his eye.

Sean took a step back, surprised by his easy acceptance. “Why are you telling me this, if you think I don’t believe you?”

“Because some day, probably not too far in the future, the way things are going, you’re going to run across something that you can’t explain, and what I tell you is going to help you take it down. Then, when it works, you’ll tell others, and the word will get around how to kill these bastards. Every single one of them that dies means dozens of human lives saved. So it’s worth it to me to tell people how it’s done, no matter what they think of me, because eventually, someone will use that information to save lives.”

Sean was stunned by the common sense of what Harris was saying. Not that he believed a word of it, but despite the fact that Harris must be insane, his logic made a hell of a lot of sense.

“Besides, I have this big bad reputation, so people are going to think twice about calling me crazy, even if I do talk nonsense. Maybe even _because_ I talk nonsense. Feeds right into that creepy, serial killer vibe, right?”

He was grinning widely by now, and Sean shook his head to clear it, and to avoid smiling right back at him. He was one hell of a clever bastard, but Sean could see right through him. 

“C’mon, ‘killer,’ it’s time for your visit with Sister Pete.”

Harris stepped up to the door, and pulled it open. Sean followed him out into the hall, and directed him to the right.

“That’s the headshrinker, right? She’s a nun?”

“Yeah, she is, but she’s also a licensed psychiatrist. You’re seeing her in her role as psychiatrist, today, but I think she’d also talk to you as a nun, if you wanted her to.”

“Nah, I’m not especially religious. Besides, I’m sure she’ll have plenty to talk to me about after you fill her in on our discussion.”

“That’s up to you. If she asks me anything, I won’t lie to her, but if you would prefer me not to, I won’t volunteer anything.”

“You won’t?” He looked surprised at that. “Why not? Isn’t that your job?”

Sean shrugged. “I can’t get the men here to trust me if I go squealing to the Warden or some other figure of authority every time they talk to me.”

Harris laughed. “I can almost guarantee you that most of Em City thinks you will, no matter whether you tell them they can trust you or not.”

“Probably so, but some of them will believe me, and it might just save somebody’s life some day.” Sean realized with a start that what he was saying, and what Harris had said just a minute ago, were very similar. The comparison disturbed him for some reason.

“What do you care?”

Murphy stared at him in surprise.

“I mean, you can do your job and go home at the end of the day, whether one of us dies or not.”

“If enough of you die, someone is going to take notice, believe me. They may not do much about it, but they’ll notice. But that’s not it. My job is more than just standing around, making sure the inmates don’t fight while I’m on duty. I have a responsibility, and I don’t shirk on responsibility just because I could get away with it. It’s personal.”

Harris digested that for a moment, then he went on. “So it’s pride.”

“Yes. But not the way you’re thinking. It’s not just how others see what I do. It’s that I know I’m doing the right thing. That’s what matters to me.”

Harris stuck his hands in his pockets, a heavy frown on his forehead while he thought about what Sean had said. Finally, he quietly spoke. “Me, too.”

“What?” Sean wanted to make sure he heard that right.

“I said, me, too. I know I’m doing the right thing, and that’s all that counts.”

They walked down the hall in silence for a while, both of them sorting out what the other had said. Finally, something that had been bothering Sean came to the front of his mind, clicking into place. 

“In the cafeteria, Hearney came up on your left side. You turned toward him, but you couldn’t possibly have seen him, because that’s your blind side.”

“Oh, huh. How about that. I didn’t even notice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He wasn’t going to accept a brush off; he’d dig until he got a real answer.

“Murphy, if you didn’t believe anything I just told you, then you’re not going to believe me when I say that a witch increased my perception on my left side, to try and make up for the loss of that eye, now are you?”

What bullshit was he trying to feed Sean now? “You’re right. I’m not.” 

“I didn’t think you would.” He came to a stop in front of the Sister’s door. “Oh, look. Psychiatric Services. I think this is my stop.”

So it was. Sean wasn’t getting a straight answer now. He wasn’t sure he ever would. He saw Beecher through the window set in the door. He was headed their direction, so Sean stood back to let him out, but he stopped halfway through.

Harris nodded. “Beecher.” 

“Harris.” The two seemed to get along fine in the common room, but Beecher was frowning at Harris, now. “You be nice to her.” 

So that was it. He didn’t trust Harris when it came to Sister Pete. 

Harris shrugged his attitude off. “Don’t worry, Beecher, nobody’s dying on my watch. Unless they die of boredom. Or laughter. That could happen.”

Beecher arched one eyebrow. “Not with your jokes, it couldn’t.”

“Hey, everybody loved the one about the werewolf and the hyena.”

The Sister walked up behind Beecher. “Sorry. Tobias already told me that one.” 

“Beecher, you have got to stop stealing my best lines!”

“If that’s your best line, we’re all in trouble,” Beecher said. 

Sister Pete smiled as she gave Beecher a gentle shove, and he stepped to the side, so Harris could meet her face to face. She stuck out her hand. “Mr. Harris, I’m Sister Peter Marie Reimondo.” 

Harris shook her hand solemnly. “Sister.”

She stepped back. “Won’t you come in?” 

Harris followed her inside. 

“Sister,” Sean nodded to her. “I’ll be right out here.”

“Oh, thank you, Sean, but there’s no need for that.”

Sean shook his head. “Sorry, Sister. Warden’s orders.”

“Right.” She sighed heavily, then bent over, touching a button on a little, white, round thing that sat near the door. “Don’t worry, Alexander, we’ll have the white-noise on, he won’t hear a thing. What you say to me is private.” She pointed him to a chair opposite hers, on the other side of the desk.

Harris gave Sean a wolfish grin, and a salute before the Sister closed the door on him. Sean frowned at them both as he settled against the wall opposite the Sister’s door, arms crossed over his chest. Fortunately, she’d left the blinds open over the door, so he could see if anything out of the ordinary happened. He replayed that last rakish grin in his head, then shook himself like a dog, trying to clear his mind. He was seriously in need of a date if he was beginning to like the looks of a serial killer.


	12. Chapter 12

Xander sat on the side of the hospital bed, fighting hard not to fidget nervously. He’d complained about the visit already, but Murphy just said that Doctor Nathan insisted on seeing how his eye was doing. He thought he’d managed to keep the knowledge that he was down one eye under wraps, at least from his fellow inmates, but despite the fact that for some odd reason, the hacks seemed to be going along with that, he couldn’t help but think that they were about to blow that sky high with today’s visit. Murphy frowned at him as he shifted on the bed, but didn’t say anything. Xander shrugged back at him. What was he supposed to say?

Finally, a woman with light brown skin, and dark hair and eyes came striding through, looking very official and in a hurry. Even without the white coat, Xander would have thought that she must be Doctor Nathan; no one but a doctor had that air of ‘not enough time in the day,’ mixed with a huge helping of ‘no interest in your bullshit’ that this woman carried with her. Alvarez swore it was her Hispanic heritage, but Xander recognized it. She reminded him of most of the Emergency Room doctors in Sunnydale – harried and overworked.

Murphy straightened up as she got closer, and Xander found himself sitting taller as well. Okay, so maybe her Hispanic roots played a part in her attitude, he found himself wanting to take off his hat, even though he wasn’t wearing one. She just wasn’t someone you messed with, no matter how beautiful she was. And she was. Alvarez had been right on the money with that one. No wonder O’Reily was crazy in love with her. Xander would be rather surprised if he was the only one. 

It didn’t matter, though, because according to Alvarez, she only had eyes for O’Reily. He’d walked in on them a couple of times, so he knew firsthand what he was talking about. Xander was kind of surprised that O’Reily would be that careless; he was so careful with everything he did. He had his hand in a lot of pots in Oz, but he stayed away from the actual business end. He just stirred the pots, sat back and watched his handiwork run. He had a lot of enemies in Oz, though, so falling in love with the head of the medical department for the entire prison was like waving a red flag, and just asking someone to run _her_ down to get at him.

He probably spent most of his time and money making sure she was well protected. That’s where Alvarez got his money these days. Sure, he peddled a few pills that he stole from the infirmary. The Italians took their share and let him be, as long as he kept it small. But most of Alvarez’ money came from O’Reily, who paid him big bucks to keep a close eye on Dr. Nathan during his shift every day. 

Speak of the devil - there Alvarez was, peeking in through the glass in the door, making sure the big bad serial killer was behaving himself with Alvarez’ charge. Xander surreptitiously flipped him the bird, and he grinned and disappeared just as Murphy turned to see who Xander was grinning at.

“Mr. Harris. I’m Dr. Nathan. I’d like to look at your eye today, but first, can you take off your shirt?”

He blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Doctor. I hardly know you!”

She smiled at him. She had a sweet smile. “Sorry, but we don’t really have time for a first date. Every single man in solitary has the runs today, so I’ve got my hands full.” 

Xander hoped she meant that figuratively.

“Ouch!” Murphy was not amused. “You think it was from the kitchen?”

“I think so, but that was the only unit affected, so we’re still trying to sort things out. After that disaster five years ago when we had to take everyone out of solitary so they could rip out the air ducts, no one is taking any chances, so I really don’t have time to waste.” 

She looked back at Xander, expectantly, and he realized that she was waiting for him to do something.

“Oh! Sorry.” 

Xander pulled off his overshirt. He hadn’t been here long enough to build up his credit and buy any street clothes, so he was making do with the standard prison issue gray slacks and shirt with a white t-shirt underneath. His shoulder twinged some when he took off the t-shirt and he winced. 

“That’s what I thought.” She nodded as she caught his wince. “A little bird told me you were in pain, and ignoring it.” 

Xander frowned. He had a feeling that little bird sang in Spanish. He’d have a talk with Alvarez about that later.

She prodded at the shoulder he’d injured in that accident in Peru, lifting his arm and moving it around. He grimaced in pain right on cue, and she nodded knowingly. 

“Your range of movement is limited, but Alvarez said you’re not mopping floors anymore?”

“No, I’m working in the library, now. It’s been better in the last week. I can put books up with my right hand, so I don’t pull on it nearly as much as I did mopping.”

“That’s good. It doesn’t seem too swollen. But the joint is hot; you’ve definitely got a little inflammation going.”

“I was using 800 milligrams of ibuprofen. That took care of the inflammation and the pain, but it’s been awkward getting them since I was arrested.”

“So no one would prescribe them to you during your trial?”

“Well, the doctor prescribed them, but the cops had a tendency to…” he shrugged with his uninjured shoulder, uncertain how much he should say, “…forget to give them to me.”

Dr. Nathan crossed her arms and let loose with a stream of very unladylike Spanish curses, complete with head movements. He only understood one out of every three; he’d only picked up a few dirty words when he’d been in Mexico, and South America, but Alvarez had been helping him expand his vocabulary. Xander was quite impressed with her variety, and intensity, and he was glad that they were aimed at Murphy, not him. 

Murphy, smart man that he was, stepped back, and held up his hands protectively. “Hey! Don’t blame me! I only met the guy the day he moved into Em City. I didn’t have anything to do with his treatment by the local cops.” 

“And if I prescribe them for him, will you make sure he gets them the way he should?”

“I most certainly will,” Murphy said, most sincerely.

She nodded. “You’d better.”

She turned her attention back on Xander, and he swallowed, not wanting to direct anymore wrath in Murphy’s direction; he’d been a pretty stand up guy for a hack, and had taken Xander’s side a couple of times in the last weeks, so he didn’t want to alienate him. He needed all the help he could get.

She studied his face closely, looking back and forth between his eyes, curiously. “Why don’t you put your shirt back on, and we can take a look at your eye.”

Xander shrugged back into his t-shirt, but left the overshirt off for the time being. His shoulder hadn’t been hurting until she poked and prodded and stretched the tendons and muscles that had been torn during the accident. Now they were sore, and he decided to leave the shirt off, since it would be awkward to put on. 

While they’d been there, two or three nurses, and orderlies, had brought patients into the room for treatment, and he didn’t want any of them to know what was wrong. Knowledge of another’s weakness was power in a place like this, and he had enough weaknesses, he didn’t need anyone knowing them. He was trying to figure out a way to ask the doctor if they could do the eye exam elsewhere, when Murphy took that problem out of his hands. 

“Hey, doc? You think we could pull these curtains around the bed and get a little privacy for this part?” 

She looked surprised, but it obviously didn’t bother her. “Sure, we can do that.” 

Between the Doctor and Murphy, they were surrounded with white curtains in no time, and Xander relaxed a little. He still had no idea why Murphy was acting the way he was, but he was going to take advantage of it for as long as it lasted.

Dr. Nathan stood in front of Xander, a puzzled look on her face. “You know, if I didn’t know which eye was damaged, I’d have trouble telling you which one had the prosthesis.”

Oh, so _that_ was what was throwing her. Time for some damage control. “I have a friend who’s an artist, and she painted the eye to look hyper-realistic.” 

“Well, she’s incredibly talented.” 

Xander let his breath go; he hadn’t realized he was holding it until he relaxed. “Yeah, she is.” 

Murphy was giving him a dirty look, and Xander could just see the cogs turning. It had only been a couple of days since he’d told Murphy what Willow had done to help him combat the lack of sight on his blind side. He knew what Murphy was thinking, and Murphy was right, that little bit of magic was part and parcel of the gift she’d given Xander before he left for Africa. He’d let Murphy stew in that one for a while. If he didn’t want to believe that Xander had magical interventions, then he could come up with a better explanation on his own.

“Can you remove the prosthesis for me, please?” 

Xander focused on Dr. Nathan again. She was prettier, anyway. Not that there was anything wrong with Murphy. Xander kind of liked him. He was okay for a hack, and he wasn’t too hard on the eye, in a guy next door kind of way. But he didn’t compare to Dr. Nathan. What man could?

“Oh, sure.” He bent over and slid the edges of the false eye out from underneath his eyelid. It didn’t matter how many times he did it, it always surprised him how strange it felt. He’d lived with that thing for four years, it felt like it belonged in his eye socket by now, even though logically, he knew that it didn’t.

“Oh, sorry,” she said as she slipped on latex gloves, “I didn’t have you wash your hands first. Don’t worry, I’ll clean it before you put it back in, all right?”

“Oh, sure. That’s fine. Thanks.” He hid his humor at that; he regularly took it out without washing his hands first. But he was a good little patient, and refrained from disappointing her.

She was still examining it. Artificial eyes were no longer shaped like eyeballs, that was the ocular implant’s job. The ocular _prosthesis_ looked like half an eyeball, but with the inside scooped out, so only the part people saw remained. It had been remarkably lifelike even before Willow had gotten hold of it, right down to the tiny red veins painted onto the surface. Murphy was staring over her shoulder, curious as hell, but being as circumspect about it as he could. Xander couldn’t really blame him, how often did you get to see someone’s prosthetic eye?

He glanced up, and Xander caught him staring into the hole where the prosthesis belonged. Murphy grinned crookedly, and shrugged, as if to say, sorry, but it’s pretty damn fascinating from this end. Xander was used to it. That’s why he seldom took it out in front of people. 

The prosthesis fit underneath his eyelids, top and bottom, and interacted with the ocular implant that was attached to his eye socket by his own muscles and tendons. So when the muscles inside the socket moved, the implant moved the prosthesis, making it face the direction his real eye was pointing. It made the fake seem even more realistic, but that part wasn’t magic. Well, only the kind of magic that scientists and modern medicine could create, not the kind witches made. All put together, it made for a damn realistic eye. 

Dr. Nathan carefully put the prosthesis in a dish, and pulled out a small flashlight. Right, Xander knew this drill. He held his head up, and opened his eyelids as wide as he could. With nothing there to hold it in place, his left eyelid drooped, but she turned on the flashlight, and held the lid open, shining the light into the socket. He couldn’t see what she was looking at, but he knew what it looked like. He’d stared into a mirror at it a lot when it was new.

The orbital implant was just a piece of plastic that filled his eye socket. The surgeons had attached Xander’s eye muscles to it, making it a permanent fixture. There was a small piece of metal in the front that fit into the prosthesis, so his muscles could move the eye around. He didn’t think about it much these days, but he was sure to others it was more interesting. At least Dr. Nathan and Murphy thought so. He almost rolled his eyes at them, or eye and a half, anyway, but he didn’t want to give them more to gape at, so he kept still.

“They all look like that?” Murphy was obviously fascinated. 

“For the most part, yes,” Dr. Nathan answered Murphy’s question, saving Xander the trouble. “It’s different in a few small ways than those I’ve seen before, but I’m supposing that’s due to the fact that it was made in the UK.” 

She turned off the flashlight, and Xander sighed. Hopefully, the floor show was over for the day.

“According to the files, the final fitting was made in Africa?”

That took him by surprise for a moment, but then he remembered the doctor in the jail, who’d hounded him with questions until he told the guy what he’d wanted to hear, just to make him leave Xander alone.

“Oh, right. Yes. The first fitting was in the UK, the final fitting and surgery to attach the muscles was in Africa.”

It was a lot easier to say that, than to say, no, my friend Willow healed the socket overnight, so there was no need to wait six months for the swelling and other damage to the socket to heal before they made their final adjustments. The doctors who accepted witchcraft as an approved form of healing were few and far between. Unless you were talking witchdoctors, and those doctors gave Xander the wiggins, whether they were supposed to be good guys or not.

“You‘ve been around. Peru, the UK, Africa… What were you doing in Africa?”

He shrugged, grinning crookedly. “Looking for a girl.” That was always an easy one to answer. Everyone loves the image of the Romantic Young Man.

Murphy rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“I was!” Xander told him. 

“Did you find her?” 

Xander dropped his head. Damn. That one was never as easy to answer. He moved on to number two on the list of excuses for the ‘what were you doing in Africa?’ question: The Headhunter. This one was more gruesome, if no less true. But it usually deflected questions more easily than any of the others.

“Yeah, I found her. I was too late, but I found her.”

“Too late?” Dr. Nathan was persistent.

“Yeah. Turns out she was taken by slavers. She was only thirteen. They took her because they thought she was special, in a supernatural way. They hacked her up, and sold her parts to witchdoctors for use in spells.”

They were both stunned by his words. He hated using Kaisa’s death as a way to escape people’s questions, because she deserved better than that, but sometimes it was the only thing he could do to deflect their attention, and free himself to find another girl. His hand went to the red blocks of color on his tattoo that reminded him that he was brave, strong and worthy, his fingers stroking across them. Her grandfather had understood. He’d gifted Xander with the ability to keep fighting when he thought there was nothing left to fight for. Brave, strong and worthy.

Murphy’s eyes followed his fingers across the tattoo, and Xander remembered that he had listened in on that conversation. Murphy knew what those blocks meant, and how important they were to Xander.

The snap of Dr. Nathan’s glove, as she pulled it off her hand, was loud in the silence behind the curtains. Murphy cleared his throat loudly.

“That’s a real shame, that little girl’s death. A waste, because all that supernatural rot is just that, garbage.”

“No. I don’t think so. Just because we can’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I believe in the supernatural.” Dr. Nathan picked up the dish with Xander’s fake eye in it. “I’ll go clean this, and be right back.” 

With a swish of curtains, she was gone. Murphy started after her, pulling the curtain back. “Dr. Nathan, can I ask you a question?”

“You’ll have to come with me; I’ve got a lot to do this afternoon.” Just like that, she was the efficient queen of the infirmary again, and Murphy hastened to do her bidding. 

“I’ll be right there.”

He turned back to Xander. “There are guards outside this curtain,” he pulled the curtain back, so Xander could see them. “I understand why you don’t want anyone to know about your eye, and I’ll do my best to help you keep it a secret as long as I can, if you behave. Deal?”

Xander nodded. “Deal.”

Murphy dropped the curtain back into place, and suddenly, Xander was by himself for the first time since he’d been arrested. Not that there was anything he could do with it that wouldn’t get noticed immediately. Besides, he had made an agreement with Murphy. If he did anything that might get noticed, then Murphy would feel justified letting his fellow inmates know about his eye, and once they knew, no amount of Willow mojo would bring that back. No, it looked like he was stuck doing nothing, which wasn’t that bad, anyway. For just a few minutes, he could just revel in not being noticed. That, in itself, was a relief.

He stretched out on the bed; right arm under his head, legs crossed at the ankles. Staring at the ceiling tiles, he took a deep breath. Solitude. He’d never imagined how wonderful that could feel.

“Dr. Nathan, can you…” His quiet reverie was interrupted by Alvarez, who popped through the curtains, obviously looking for the doctor. “Holy Mother of God!”

The curtain dropped behind a stunned Alvarez, who was staring at the gaping hole where Xander’s eye should be. Shit. Xander learned two or three new Spanish curses in the time it took him to sit up, his hands out to stop Alvarez from making any more noise and attracting a hack’s attention.

“Keep your voice down, dammit!” He whispered hoarsely.

“Keep my voice down?” Alvarez asked. Fortunately, he did it softly. “Is that all you have to say to me?”

“Um…hey, Alvarez!” Xander said brightly, “How’s it going?” He wasn’t sure exactly what Alvarez was asking for, but he bet it had something to do with the hole in Xander’s face where his eye belonged.

“That’s the best you can come up with? I’ve been living in the same pod with you for three weeks, and you never told me you were missing an eye!” 

He followed that with more curses, but at least Xander knew some of these. He wasn’t sure why Alvarez felt the need to bring up Xander’s mother, but he could deal. They weren’t that close of a family, anyway.

“Okay, so maybe I should have told you, but I had my reasons.” He’d feel better if Alvarez would stop craning his neck to try and peer under his eyelid, but that was understandable. Everyone did that the first time they saw it.

“Wait.” Alvarez frowned, plopping down on the edge of the bed next to Xander. “This is about Rivera, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“The hack whose eyes I…”

Xander interrupted him with a random series of vowel sounds, not really wanting to hear it said out loud. It upset his stomach, every time he thought about it. He took a deep breath. “That’s got a lot to do with it, yeah.”

“Who told you? Was it Busmalis, Rebadow? O’Reily?”

“Not like it matters at this point. I just… When it happened… When I lost my eye, it was really traumatic, okay? It makes me sick, even thinking of something happening to the other one, and I didn’t feel comfortable…”

“You got nothing to worry about,” Alvarez swore. “I didn’t want to do it, even then, but I had no choice. Nothing like that could possibly happen again. That prick El Cid is dead, and I gave up my allegiance to el Norte, anyway. Believe me, I’d never do that again.”

Xander did believe that. He understood how you could be pushed beyond rational thought. It had happened to him, more than once in his life. “That’s good to know. Thanks.”

“What happened to it?” 

“My eye? I was in a fight. A guy… He used his thumb…” 

Alvarez hissed at that. Xander had to stop talking. Simply thinking about it was traumatic. 

“Look, I’m sure everyone will know sooner or later, I can’t keep this a secret forever. But I’m gonna keep it for as long as I can, because it’s going to make my life a lot harder, once everyone knows.”

“Yeah, all right. I can see that. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Alvarez held out his hand, and they shook. 

“They won’t find out from me. I swear.”


	13. Chapter 13

Sean did his best to maintain a straight face while both Tim and Querns tried to keep poor Phelan’s attention focused on them. Of course, they both failed miserably, since she was more interested in Ray and the Sister. They had some kind of secret cabal going from the looks of it. He was curious, but not curious enough to walk over there and find out what the hell was going on. He was sure that Ray would fill him in on the details later. He shifted his sore ankle on the chair Tim had carefully placed it on. Tim had extracted a promise from Sean that he ask Tim if he needed anything, instead of getting it for himself. He had agreed, reluctantly.

Sean really wasn’t that badly hurt, but Gloria had insisted that he stay off it, for fear that the sprain might develop into something worse. So he was working the night shift for the week. Instead of trading off who walked the rounds of the Unit, the other guard would be walking all of them, letting Sean sit at the guard station and supervise. Then, the guards that did all the extra work would get an extra paid day off for their efforts. Everyone was happy with that solution. 

He was in a couple of hours early today, in order to make it to the Staff Meeting, but afterwards Sean intended to borrow Tim’s couch for a few hours sleep before the third shift started. He listened in as Querns congratulated Tim on his ability to, for once, make it on time to a Staff Meeting. He suggested that maybe Tim’s second in command get injured in the line of duty more often, if that’s what it took to get Tim to a meeting on time. Sean laughed. His sprained ankle had nothing to do with Tim’s promptness this week. He was taking Sean up on his suggestion that if Tim wanted to speak to Phelan, he needed to get to meetings early.

Not that it would help. Phelan wasn’t dating either of them. They just hadn’t realized that she meant what she said. They’d figure it out eventually. Probably. Straight men could be somewhat dense, sometimes.

Gloria walked over and pulled up a chair next to him. “How’s my favorite patient, today?”

He grinned at her. “When I see him, I’ll let you know.”

She smacked him on the leg. “Oh, you.”

He feigned panic. “Hey, be careful! I’m an injured man, here!”

Gloria rolled her eyes at him. “Listen to you. You’re just faking it to keep Sister Pete from using you as a punching bag.”

“How do you think I got this sprain in the first place?” 

“I know.” She smiled. “Why do you think I’m going along with your deceit?”

“I’m an injured man! I deserve a few days off from Attila the Nun!” 

She laughed, and Sean saw that the cabal had noticed their discussion, and was headed their way. 

“Oh, no! Here she comes.” He grabbed Gloria’s arm. “Protect me, please!”

Gloria shook her head. “Don’t get me in the middle of this; you’re on your own, buster.”

Fortunately, the Warden called the meeting to order, and Sean escaped the group’s attentions. The poor Sister was extremely upset over the whole thing, and he hated that every time she saw him now, she apologized profusely. He tried to explain to her that it wasn’t that bad a thing. Being laid up, he got to spend a few days catching up on his paperwork, and he got a break from following Harris around. 

Not that he actually minded that part; he kind of missed Harris’ crazy sense of humor, and there was always something new to discover about the guy. He was a never ending font of totally bizarre and outlandish information. But it was nice to be able to act like an actual Head C.O. again, instead of babysitting Harris.

Tim brought him some fresh coffee, and settled down next to him at the table. Phelan was sandwiched between the Sister and Ray on the opposite side of the table, and from the looks Tim threw in that direction, he had an idea that was intentional. It probably was. Jesus. The drama never ended here in Oz, now did it? 

“First off,” Querns started in, “I’d like to thank everyone for being here on time. It’s the first time we’ve had everyone on time for a Staff Meeting since I got here.”

Ouch. That was a nice little dig. Tim wasn’t the only one who came in late, but he was the most consistent offender. He kept a neutral face and didn’t acknowledge the point, and Sean approved of his actions. Tim and Querns were never going to get along. There was too much dirty water under the bridge for that. The best way to deal was to ignore the digs and keep moving.

“I’m very pleased with the Head C.O. Performance Logs, and with due consideration, and much input from everyone involved, I have decided to drop them - for now.” 

It was Querns’ turn to show a neutral façade. Sean was pretty sure that everyone and their cousin had spoken to him about how those 15 minute check-ins tied the hands of the Head C.O.s, and made it impossible for them to get their work accomplished. 

There was much sighing with relief, high fiving, and congratulating each other around the table. Sean sent Sister Pete a big thumbs up, since she’d made it her personal mission to hound Querns until he got rid of those check-ins. She beamed back at him. 

Sean let the next part of the meeting flow over him, half listening as he made plans for the rest of his week. So he was brought up short when Querns asked who was watching Harris while Sean was on night shift.

“Umm, that would be Mineo.” Tim told him. “He’s got a sharp eye, and he’s good at picking up details. He’ll be right on top of him.”

“That will do for now, but next week when you’re back on full duty, Murphy, I want you to go back to watching him closely.”

“You know,” Tim said, “using my Head C.O. for such a menial and time consuming task kind of negates the whole idea of a Head C.O. being able to step back and see the full picture.”

Querns didn’t give Tim much sympathy. “Well, you’re the one who insisted Harris take a berth in Em City. You wanted him, you’re stuck with him, now.” 

Querns ignored Tim’s heavy sigh. “As a matter of fact, Murphy, as long as you’re on Harris duty, why don’t you keep up those progress reports. You can go down to every half hour, but make them more detailed, so I know what he’s up to.”

Tim dropped his head to the top of the table, “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Not really, but I have no sympathy, either. You asked for him, after all.”

“Sister?” He dismissed Tim without another word. “You met with him this week, didn’t you? Anything you’d care to add to your official report?”

She looked at him, puzzled by what he was asking. “What do you mean? I thought my report was fairly extensive. Considering how much I’m limited to saying due to client confidentiality.”

“You said he was depressed over the fact that his friends didn’t help him at his trial.” He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “That’s it?” 

“Well, no, that’s only one part of what I said.”

“But that’s what it all boiled down to. You just said it in fancier words. I want to know more. What made him start murdering in the first place? What are the circumstances that sparked his killing sprees, and what do we need to do to keep him from trying something like that again? Details, Sister, I need details.”

“We’ve only met once, Warden. You’re asking me to answer questions that might not be revealed for _years_. He’s still in a state of total denial. According to him, he didn’t do a thing that he’s been accused of.”

“You don’t believe him, do you?”

She stared at Querns contemplatively. “At this point, I have no idea.”

“Well, I do,” Querns told her. “He’s been convicted by a court of law. He’s guilty, and I don’t want to wait until he starts killing again before the lot of you decide that you should have been paying attention all along.” He looked around at Tim and Sean, even Gloria and Ray. “That goes for all of you. You’re only there to help keep him in line. Since there’s no death penalty, we’re stuck with him, but that doesn’t mean that we have to mollycoddle him. If I find out that’s what you’re doing, I’ll stick him in some other unit so fast your head will spin.”

Sean saw the look on Ray’s face. He’d been challenged, now. Ray didn’t like being told what to do. Not that Sean actually thought Harris was innocent, but it might be fun to encourage Ray to visit him. He wasn’t actually sure Harris would see a priest, there was no religious affiliation mentioned on his paperwork. Gloria was staring at Ray, with a cat that ate the canary smile. He wasn’t sure what was up with that, but maybe she planned to plant a bug in Ray’s ear as well. Querns should know better by now. Telling them all to stay away was like waving a red flag and shouting, “Yo, bull. I’m over here!”

The conversation he’d had with Gloria about Harris ran though his mind. He’d asked her if she thought what Harris had told him earlier could be true. If he actually could have some sort of extra sensory perception of some sort that could help him sense someone on his blind side. She’d been surprised at his question, but she’d said it could very easily be true. 

She’d told him of growing up in the barrio, and knowing a dozen old women who had abilities that no one could ever have explained through science. She believed, and she’d told him that if that’s what was going on here, if Harris was right, and the supernatural world was breaking into their own, Sean had better learn to open his mind to things that didn’t follow the same rules of nature he’d always believed in. Because if he didn’t learn to accept the unbelievable, he could very easily wind up dead.


	14. Chapter 14

Xander and Alvarez had an oddly shaped pod. It was in the corner, so it was wide in the back and narrower in the front. On one side, was one of those long pods that housed a couple of dozen men, instead of the two man pods that everyone else had. There were only two of those in Em City, one on top of the other, with a dozen bunks in each. The one on the upper tier had a fair amount of the group that called themselves The Christians, plus a lot of guys that Alvarez called the Odds and Ends. They were the men that didn’t fit into any of the more formal groups in Em City, like the Homeboys, the Latinos, the Aryan Brotherhood, even the Gays had their own little clique. 

Alvarez and Xander didn’t really belong in any of those groups, either. Alvarez had parted ways with El Norte, and although he’d occasionally spend a few minutes talking to a Latino friend, he seldom spent any real time with them. Xander had loved his bike, he’d ridden it long, hard miles, all through the Americas. So he’d kind of gotten along with the bikers, as long as they were talking about their bikes. But they ran with the AB, and he refused to hang out with NeoNazis. Besides, he felt more comfortable around Alvarez, Busmalis, and Rebadow. He liked Beecher, too, even though he kept his distance from him; Xander’d heard too much about his bad habits to really trust him. And O’Reily, well that guy was slick. He never had his hands on the dirt going on in Oz, but he knew exactly what was happening, and how to push it in the direction he wanted. 

Those other odds and ends, they wandered in and out, fluttering around the edges of the bunch Xander hung out with, but they didn’t get too close. He wasn’t surprised. The only one of the group that you couldn’t tie at least one murder to was Busmalis, and Xander had even heard rumors about him and a couple of Aryans, and how he loosened the supports in a tunnel that collapsed on them. He guessed they all sort of had a bad rep. Wow, he was one of the bad boys. Wouldn’t Faith be proud of him now? He shrugged. Whatever.

On the other side of Xander’s pod were a couple of bikers. Jonah Miles had been there for a while; he seemed a decent sort although he had a short temper when crossed. About a month ago, his podmate, Mallard, had been fatally stabbed while working in the dress factory. He’d picked up a new roommate a few days later. Benser was an odd one. Xander had been sitting at the TVs when he’d come back from the infirmary, bragging about how quickly his leg had healed. 

Obviously, he’d been bitten by some stray dog a couple of days before his sentencing. ‘A big ugly mutt,’ at least that’s what Benser had called it. The doctor had been surprised at how quickly he’d healed. Xander figured that could happened, especially if the bite was a minor one, but Benser had gone on and on about how bad of shape he’d been in just a few days ago. Most of the guys he was talking to just ignored him. Men bragged about all sorts of weird shit here in Oz. Xander had already discovered that. But this didn’t seem right to Xander, and he’d decided to keep an eye on this Benser character.

Unfortunately Benser and Miles didn’t get along too well. For that matter, Benser didn’t seem to get along with _anyone_. Within just a few days, he’d had two or three altercations within his own group, and Gemble, the head of the bikers, had already had words with him about keeping the peace. Gemble lived a few pods down from Miles and Benser, and Xander had been in his bunk, reading, when they had it out. It hadn’t been pretty. 

Fortunately, Benser had calmed down some after that. Then, a week later, he’d started complaining that the kitchen staff overcooked the meat. Obviously, he preferred his mystery meat on the rare side. When the Italians, who ran the kitchen with an iron hand, had ignored his complaints, he’d asked to transfer his job to the kitchen. That had been a total bust, because the Wiseguys didn’t want him near them. He’d ended up in the Hole for a few days over that one. And when he came back, he was even more aggressive than he was when he went in. It didn’t matter that they weren’t on a Hellmouth, Benser was setting off Xander’s Hellmouth vibes big time. 

The prison chaplain had shown up at the library a couple of days later, and asked Xander if he’d come visit. Xander had been hesitant, since he wasn’t religious, and had no interest in being preached at, but the Padre had assured him that that wasn’t what he had in mind. He just wanted to talk. 

That night, Xander had asked Alvarez about Father Ray Mukada, and had learned a hell of a lot about both of them. Alvarez had told him about his son, who’d died just days after he’d been born, and how Father Ray had talked the Warden into letting Alvarez be there for the birth, and then again later, when they took his son off life support. He told Xander about Rivera, the hack whose eyes he’d taken out with a scalpel, and how, even after he’d held Father Ray hostage, the priest had begged the hacks not to hurt Alvarez. Then later in solitary, when the hacks weren’t feeding him, or giving him any water to drink, the Father had brought Alvarez food, hidden under his vestments. 

Alvarez wasn’t sure the Padre had always made the best decisions, but he knew that Father Ray had always tried to do the right thing, no matter how wrong everyone else might think that was. He told Xander that if the Father wanted to see him, then he should go, because he’d never try and sell Xander religion if he didn’t want it. More importantly, he’d listen to Xander, without judgment and without trying to change his mind. Xander’d come to trust Alvarez’ opinion in the last month, so the next day, he’d asked for an appointment with the Father, and he’d discovered that Alvarez was right.

He’d been surprised at how easy the priest was to talk to, and he’d ended up telling him far more than he’d ever planned to tell anyone in Oz. But he hadn’t been the only one doing the talking. Father Ray had been thrilled to find someone who believed in demons and the supernatural. 

He’d told Xander about the exorcisms he’d seen performed, and the books he’d found when he’d been nosing through the libraries at the Vatican. Xander knew Giles would give his left nutt to see those libraries, but he didn’t tell the Padre that – at least not in that language. Although, the longer Xander spent with Father Ray, the more he realize that this priest wasn’t one to get upset over a little bad language, he tended to use it himself. And he smoked like a chimney. He guessed that even priests had their bad habits. They’d talked a lot after that, and Xander always enjoyed their talks. 

The Father had been talking about his friend Sean for some time before Xander realized that he was referring to Murphy, the Head C.O. of Em City. He didn’t say much, just enough to let Xander know that they were friends. He did admit that Murphy had encouraged Father Ray to talk to Xander, which Xander found odd. Murphy didn’t want to believe in the supernatural, but he was willing to encourage his good friend to do so? 

He’d been in the Padre’s office when he’d noticed the calendar hanging on his wall. Xander’d studied it, but couldn’t figure out what it was that he found disturbing about it. It was only later, as he sat in front of the TVs, and CNN was talking about the escalation of violence that was driving Los Hombres Lobo to new heights of terror, that Xander realized exactly what had been bothering him so much. 

He’d been in Oz for over a month now, and tonight was the day before the full moon. He’d tried to get the hacks to let him talk to Murphy, or let him visit Father Ray, but they were both in a staff meeting, and the Warden had gotten tired of being interrupted for ‘minor stupidity,’ so no one was allowed to interrupt a staff meeting without a life or death issue. He hadn’t believed Xander when he’d told the hack that life or death was _exactly_ the problem. He just told Xander that Murphy would be working the night shift, and that if it was urgent enough, he could try and convince Murphy to talk to him then, after they’d been locked up for the night.

So he’d waited anxiously for Murphy to walk by, his eyes on Miles and Benser’s pod as Benser paced the small amount of free floor space, back and forth between the back wall and the Plexiglas door. But Murphy never showed. Usually, the hacks on night shift traded off making rounds, with the other one sitting at the desk, but despite the fact that he could see Murphy at the guard station, he wasn’t making the usual rounds. Xander didn’t know what to do. He tried getting the other C.O.s attention, but that had been a bust; Officer Finton just laughed at him when he asked to speak to Murphy.

Alvarez thought he was crazy, at least until Benser started crying out, his body jerking and twisting in ways a human’s body wasn’t supposed to move. Alvarez jumped off the bed right about the same time Miles did in the next pod over, and Xander started screaming at Murphy to let Miles out of their pod, his fists banging on the Plexiglas wall. Finton came running down to their end of the tier just as Murphy popped the lock on that door. Miles stood up, thinking that Finton was going to help his podmate, but that’s when Benser’s body started sprouting fur, and Finton charged into the room, and backed out just as fast as he’d gone in.

He shouted to Murphy to lock the door, but Miles shoved up against it, pushing Finton enough to the side to let Miles push himself half-way out. He started shouting at Finton for leaving him in the room with a werewolf, and the only thing that saved both their lives was the low growl that came from inside the room. They both turned to face the partially open door just as the completely transformed creature inside jumped at them. Miles tried to shut the door but his foot was still inside. The wolf crashed into the door, clawing at Miles’ side. He knocked the door open enough for Miles to pull his foot out, and together the two of them shoved at the door until it closed.

Finton shouted, “Lock the door!” and this time, Murphy was able to do so, the lock clicking into place as the werewolf rushed the door again. They both jumped backwards, but the locks were strong, and they held the wolf inside. Miles and Finton both scrambled down the stairs, shouting loudly at each other, and at Murphy, about werewolves, ripped clothes, bloody claws, and fur sprouting right before their eyes. 

It was obvious that Murphy didn’t want to believe them, even now, but finally, he limped up the stairs to check out the pod. They turned on the bank of lights down at that end of the unit, and the men in the pods on both sides shouted, and banged on their walls, some of them panic-struck, other’s just turned on by all the commotion. Xander had to admit, it was the most excitement he’d had on a Monday night since he’d gotten here. At least now he knew why Murphy wasn’t making the rounds like the rest of the hacks always did, his ankle was obviously messed up.

As he walked by Xander’s pod, Xander caught his eye, as if to say, “I told you so.” Murphy just frowned at him, and moved on. There was nothing to be seen on the floor of the pod but shreds of clothes and the remains of a pillow. The werewolf had retreated to the one cinderblock wall in the pod, behind the head of the bunk. He’d pulled the bunk back up close to the wall, so he was hard to see. Murphy got out his flashlight, focused the light into that corner, and used his billy club to rap sharply on the Plexiglas, drawing his attention. It worked. 

The werewolf moved quickly, jumping at Murphy, and crashing into the glass. Murphy’s eyes widened comically, and he threw himself backwards, up against the railing around the second tier.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” 

Xander didn’t blame him for invoking Jesus’ name, Em City was full of hardened veterans of numerous fight-to-the-death street fight scenarios down on their knees praying to God right now. This kind of horror could turn a sinner to a saint overnight. Of course it was old hat to Xander.

He hadn’t seen this kind of werewolf, before, though. When Xander came back from Africa, Giles and his team of baby Slayers and Watchers-in-training had just dealt with a bad werewolf infestation. Giles had found a lot of new information in several London Watcher’s libraries, and he told Xander that there were probably half a dozen different species of werewolves in the world, all of which had slightly different traits. This one wasn’t too close to Oz’s wolf, which was the only kind Xander was personally familiar with, but he resembled the pictures from CNN and other broadcasts coming out of California right now. 

Benser’s wolf was covered with black fur, the color of Benser’s hair, but Xander thought he was probably at least four or five inches taller, now. He didn’t have a full snout like a real wolf, but his face was somewhat elongated where the snout would be, and his entire face was covered in short hair. His teeth were pretty damned impressive, as was his snarl. His claws were long, and looked deadly, but it seemed he could retract them when he wanted. 

Otherwise, his upper body resembled a well-muscled, rather furry man’s, until he went down on four feet, and then his arms developed angles that human arms couldn’t produce. Xander wasn’t sure how he walked on two feet with his legs shaped the way they were, but he seemed to do all right. He could jump pretty far on all four feet, as Murphy had just discovered. The way he moved back and forth between two feet and four, it was obvious that he was pretty agile. Xander bet he could run pretty damn fast, if he had the room.

Most important of all, it seemed like the Plexiglas walls were holding him in, which Xander figured everyone in Em City right now was grateful for. According to Alvarez, way back when, Beecher had gotten high on something or other and had broken through the glass using nothing more than a chair made of plastic and aluminum. He’d nearly blinded the man who had pragged him. And what the hell was it with this prison and people losing eyes? He was officially declaring a moratorium on eye loss until he left Oz. After the Riot of 97 they’d reinforced all the Plexiglas, making it much more difficult to get through, and at the moment, Xander was damned glad for that. 

Murphy gimped his way back down the stairs. He headed out the main gate to Em City, instead of planting himself at the desk like before, so it wouldn’t be long before this was all over the prison. He had Miles by the arm, so he was probably going to the infirmary, although the scratches from Benser’s claws hadn’t done too much damage from what Xander could see.

He went back to studying the werewolf, who was pacing the floor, what there was of it, and staring at his fellow inmates aggressively. It didn’t take long before Xander’s steady gaze attracted the werewolf’s attention. He crossed the floor and stood opposite Xander, staring into their pod, one lip curling up as he snarled at Xander, and at Alvarez, who was standing at his shoulder. 

Alvarez shivered, and murmured, “Esto es malo. Esto es muy malo.”

“Why is this bad?” Xander asked. “They have him trapped. They can bring in someone with tranquilizer darts, and take him out. They’ll leave him tied up until the moon goes down, he’ll change back to human, and he’ll be fine until moonrise tomorrow night.”

“And we go through this again? And then again the night after that? You said it happens three nights in a row, right?”

Xander turned to him, one eyebrow cocked. “You really think he’ll still be in Oz by this time tomorrow?”

“Where else would he be?”

“Think about, Alvarez. They have all sorts of werewolves in L.A., but there are cops at all the major roads into the state. From what I hear, it’s become like its own country – or a police state, maybe. You can’t just pop in and say, hi, can I take one of your werewolves, so I can study it, please?”

“They’re fairly rare over here on the East coast. There will be all sorts of agencies and Federal and local governments that want a piece of him.” 

He turned back to the werewolf again, wondering at the way he was baring his fangs at Xander. Maybe he didn’t like being stared at. He’d better get used to it. And being tested, and operated on… He shuddered. Spike would have a fit here in Em City, with all the glass walls. He’d told Xander once that the glass walls had disturbed him even more than the white on white that had covered every other surface of the Initiative. He hadn’t liked the fact that people could look in on him any time they wanted. After a month in Em City, Xander could sympathize.

“Who knows? Maybe they’ve reinstated the Initiative. I hope not.”

“The Initiative? What the hell’s that?”

“There was a government facility under the college in my home town, built by scientists and the Military to try and train demons to be soldiers, shock troupes for the Military. They had all sorts of demons in their labs, many of which were perfectly harmless creatures.”

Alvarez laughed. 

Xander looked back over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Not all demons want to kill humans, you know. There’s this one demon, his name is Clem. He has all this saggy skin, and red, beady eyes. He may look weird, but he doesn’t hurt anyone, unless they get between him and poker night. Just don’t leave him alone with any kittens.”

“Kittens?”

“Obviously, they’re a pretty tasty snack.”

Alvarez laughed, and Xander joined him. When he looked back, the werewolf was still staring at Xander. It made him uncomfortable. He’d never seen a werewolf so quiet, unless he was sleeping. It was almost as if he was listening in on their conversation. Oh, fuck – the realization surged through Xander, leaving him in a state of shock. Xander searched the werewolf’s eyes, and found intelligence there. And werewolves have excellent hearing. The werewolf saw the moment Xander realized what he’d just told him. 

“Be careful,” Xander whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was worried about Benser, or everyone else. 

The werewolf turned his back and started pacing his small cell again, watching the C.O.s carefully when they made their rounds. 

Xander sat down on his bunk, and thought about what had just happened. No wonder the werewolf gangs in L.A. were able to do so much damage while the moon was up. He’d wondered how they’d managed to organize any kind of assault on other gangs, because all the werewolves he’d ever heard of hadn’t maintained any kind of intelligence when they went furry – everything they’d done had been on _instinct_ alone. This one – this one had understood every word Xander had said. And he’d been making plans. That was as frightening as anything else. This werewolf was more dangerous than any other he’d ever heard of.


	15. Chapter 15

The SORT team finally arrived, with tranquilizer guns, and they learned the hard way that it took four times as much tranquilizer to put a werewolf under, as it did a human. Werewolf. Every time Sean even _thought_ that word, his mind started throwing up phrases like ‘that’s impossible’ and ‘no fucking way.’ But words didn’t mean a thing when you could see the creature plain as day, right in front of your face. 

They were lucky, only one officer was hurt. SORT learned their lesson quickly, they put three more tranq darts in him before he finally dropped. Instead of putting him in a solitary cell where they could control him if necessary, the docs in the infirmary insisted on strapping him to a bed. But Werewolves were a hell of a lot stronger than a human, even when they were in their human form. That piece of knowledge had cost them dearly. By the time they had Benser subdued again one SORT officer was dead, and one nurse was badly wounded. 

There were some who wanted to put Benser down over that, but in the end, common sense prevailed. You don’t shoot a man for killing another man, you put him on trial, and Benser was a man – most of the time, anyway. Unfortunately, no one thought to record the actual _change_ from werewolf to human as it happened, so the Warden was having trouble believing them, even with the videotaped evidence that they _did_ have.

It didn’t help any that after all that, Benser still managed to get away from them. The military had come to pick him up, and the SORT team stepped back to let them have at him, since they were supposed to have training in this kind of thing. But Benser grabbed a Taser right off one of the soldiers’ belts, and left two of them jerking on the floor of the hallway. He used the third as a shield to keep the tranqs from hitting him. They had to stop shooting, because the doses were so high that if they hit the soldier instead, they could have killed him. They had no idea that he could move that fast. 

The Military wanted to send in more soldier boys, but Querns nixed that. He said they’d had their shot, now Oswald would take care of its own. Sean hoped they could, if not, he was sure they’d find out the hard way. The problem was, to take him down, they had to _find_ him first. The dogs the SORT team used were drug sniffers, but they handled the change fairly well. They had plenty of his scent to go by, all over his sheets in the infirmary, but the dogs tended to shy when they got too close, and who could blame them, the damn thing was dangerous as hell. 

Sean spent a lot of time in with the Warden, trying to convince him this was the real deal, but Sean felt pretty damn helpless during the search, with his busted ankle. It was getting more difficult to walk, and Gloria shook her finger at him, handed him a cane and a box full of instant ice packs, and pointed him in the direction of the nearest couch. Well, he’d been up all night, and most of the morning, no wonder he was tired. Even if he knew he’d never sleep, at least he could rest for a while; that would probably help his ankle, if nothing else. Ray wasn’t around, so he had the Chaplin’s office to himself. 

Querns had kicked pretty much everyone the prison could operate without to the curb until they found the bastard. O’Reily’s mother Suzanne, and the other volunteer staff, plus the Sister, Stella, Ray, all the teachers for the GED and education programs, and half a dozen secretaries and clerks, were all turned back at the door. What was odd was that despite the fact that there were a number of older rooms that didn’t get used much anymore, there really weren’t that many places to hide. Sean thought Benser was in the heating ducts, but if he was, he was fooling the dogs as well as everyone else. Fortunately, the only duct leading into Ray’s office was far too small for a werewolf to fit through. 

The sound of men's voices in the cafeteria, trays rattling as they got ready for dinner was soothing; there weren’t too many familiar sounds in the prison today. Every unit was in lockdown. Unless someone had to be taken to the infirmary, there were no people in the halls, except for SORT and the occasional other C.O. The sound of radios squawking at each other in the halls as they reported in was often the only sound you could hear. 

Even though the skeleton crew of kitchen workers were rather subdued, it was good to hear any noises at all today. At least they were well protected; two SORT officers with their tranq guns, and two C.O.s for every inmate they were guarding. The C.O.s were armed with Tasers, despite the fiasco the Military’d had with theirs. Warden Querns had just shrugged and remarked that at least _his_ officers knew what they were doing. Querns was smart enough to put extra guards on the kitchen staff; as far as they knew, Benser hadn’t eaten all day. 

The kitchen staff left, noisily rolling trays laden with food for the inmates stuck in their cells until they canceled lockdown. Sean finally gave up the fight with the couch, and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. It was obvious that he wasn’t getting any sleep, so he might as well do something productive. The military had offered nothing but pat phrases that never said anything too important, and they’d all been frustrated at the lack of answers. 

If they were going to find this guy, they’d need all the information they could get, so Sean got on the horn, called Em City, and told them to bring ‘round Harris. He had a feeling he might get some straight answers out of _him_. He wasn’t too sure he really wanted to hear what Harris had to say, and he was sure that the Warden and other C.O.s would laugh their asses off if they knew where he was going for his info, but tough shit. If they learned something that could help them fight this thing, then it was worth the sneers he’d get from assholes like Querns.

When Sean opened the Chaplin’s Office door he had to bite his lip to stop from laughing at the surprise on Harris’ face. He jerked his head back, to indicate that Harris should come in, and told Anderson to head on back to Em City, this was likely to take a while. Anderson didn’t blink. After the day they’d had, he wasn’t sure any of them had any _surprise_ left in them. 

Sean motioned to the couch. “Have a seat.” 

He’d rather be alert during this conversation, even if he was at least seventy percent certain that Harris was telling the truth about being innocent. He was still a dangerous character, no matter what his story. So he pulled around the chair from the front of Ray’s desk, which he knew from experience wasn’t really very comfortable. He’d think that was intentional, but that wasn’t Ray’s style. He kept requesting new chairs, and they kept sending him old crap ones so they didn’t have to buy new ones.

Sean pulled an icepack out of the box, propped his foot up on another uncomfortable chair, and activated the icepack, laying it on top of his injured ankle. It felt good; it was obvious that despite a weekend of icing it, it was still hot and swollen. The things he did for this place. 

“What happened?”

Sean shook his head, it wasn’t worth explaining. “Whatever you do, don’t ever cross Sister Peter Marie.”

Harris barked out a short laugh. “The civilians in this place scare me a hell of a lot more than the SORT team does. I wouldn’t cross any of them.”

Sean grinned wryly. “You’re wise beyond your years.” 

“That’s the first time anyone has ever accused me of _that_.”

Sean studied Harris as he sat there, playing with the seam on his jeans. He wanted to smack whoever had made Harris feel that kind of disappointment. Yep, Sean was definitely cracked in the head, because he was feeling sorry for a guy convicted of being a serial killer. But he couldn’t help but remind Harris of his own words. “Just brave, strong, and worthy.”

Harris glanced down at his tattoo, and rubbed his fingers across the red blocks. “You’ve got a good memory.”

“It hasn’t been more than a month since you said it. But yeah, I have a very long memory.” He threw a pointed look in Harris’ direction. “Keep that in mind.”

“I will. So I’ve learned two things today. Well, three if you count Alvarez teaching me how to say motherfucker in Spanish.”

“That man’s a bad influence. He’s teaching Busmalis curse words, too.” 

“Yeah, but Busmalis doesn’t want to say the really bad ones. His favorite new word is ‘perdedor’ and all that means is ‘loser’.” 

Several things fell into place, including why Busmalis would curse in Spanish, but not English. “So _that’s_ what that means.” 

He got a grin out of Harris. Nice. He should smile more often. “He’s been calling you a loser, has he?”

“Next time, I’ll remind him of who’s in prison, and who’s not.” 

“You’ve got a point, there.” 

Harris grinned wickedly, and Sean felt his insides melt. He carefully held himself back from returning the grin. What the hell did he think he was doing, flirting with a convicted mass murderer? Maybe he _was_ innocent, but he was in prison, and Sean was a Corrections Officer. He needed to start acting like one.

Harris continued the thought that had brought that wicked grin to his face. “Of course, you’re in prison, too.”

“But I get to go home at night, and that’s where the difference lies.” 

“Yeah, all right, you got me on that one,” Harris reluctantly agreed. “Pizza, beer, a remote control for the cable…that would be nice. So you know, I hate lockdown already. I don’t normally stink, and neither does Alvarez, thank goodness, but if we stay in lockdown too much longer, we’re gonna have to do laundry and take a shower, or that pod’s gonna reek.”

“Don’t worry,” Sean said, relieved that they’d changed the subject. Maybe he can get to the point of this visit, and leave the inappropriate thoughts behind. “We’ve done this before. We’ll make sure you don’t suffocate in your pod.”

“I hope so.” He stared hard at Murphy, who stared back at him. “You’ve lost Benser, haven’t you?” 

Murphy kept his face as blank as he could. They’d been busted. He wondered how many others had made the connection.

“You’d have let us out by now if you hadn’t. Did the military offer to take him off your hands, yet?”

Murphy sighed. He’d have to be careful what he said, because Alvarez worked the infirmary, the one place that couldn’t be closed down during a crisis. Sooner or later, everything he told Harris would be all over the prison. He had no doubt about that. It was just the way the rumor mill operated. The higher rated the secret, the faster the word traveled. 

Well, if Harris could offer them some kind of help, then maybe they wouldn’t need to keep everyone locked up much longer. That would be a relief for everyone involved. He would just have to take the chance that Harris could, and would, help, instead of hinder this situation.

“All right.” Sean leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, which was awkward with his injured ankle on a chair, but he felt the need to make a point of this part. 

“What I tell you needs to stay between the two of us. If you tell Alvarez, it will be all over the prison in hours.” 

Harris opened his mouth to protest, but Sean kept going. “Nothing against Alvarez; it’s not a judgment. That’s just the way Oz runs. We don’t need any panic, though. That’s not going to help anyone, especially men locked in their cells.”

“Hey, that’s okay, Murphy.” Harris rushed to make his point, surprising Sean. 

“I understand. I won’t tell Alvarez anything you think needs to be kept secret. I understand panic in the face of the unknown more than you might realize. It’s not fun. I used to think that people should be allowed to make their own decisions about how to react to the unusual and frightening – the paranormal, but having lived through it more times than I’d like to admit, I have come to the conclusion that for many people it’s better to introduce it in small doses.” 

Harris seemed very sincere, and Sean found himself wanting to believe him. He forced himself to hold back on that unconditional trust, but was willing to conditionally give Harris the benefit of the doubt.

“You’ve been in this situation before.” It wasn’t a question. The certainty that Harris knew what he was talking about was obvious in his statement.

“Since I was fifteen.”

“The day you killed your first vampire?

A momentary pain crossed his face, but it was gone so fast, Sean wondered if he’d imagined it. 

“That was the day I discovered vampires were real. My life has never been the same.”

“So you know what we’re dealing with?”

“I’ve never seen this kind of werewolf before. I think he’s the most dangerous creature I’ve seen in a long time.” He paused for a second. “Well, if you count out the Davraad.”

“Davraad? What the hell’s that?”

“A demon capable of taking over the bodies of humans, and corrupting their souls. That’s what I was hunting when I was arrested.” This time his laugh was hollow, and devoid of humor. “The bastard set me up. I’d been tracking him for months. But I got sidetracked by a different demon, and let my guard down, and that’s all it took. He framed me for his crimes. He told me it was because he didn’t like the fact that I kept interrupting his meals.”

Sean sat back in his chair, his doubt obviously clear on his face. Maybe this was a mistake. Harris was charming and sincere, but that didn’t mean he was telling an ounce of the truth. Could Sean trust what Harris said? He was right about the military, at least. He’d known they’d want Benser, and now Sean found himself wondering why.

Harris’ face had hardened to a mask of indifference while Sean took in his words. 

“Hey, you don’t have to believe that I’m innocent. Ironically, I think you would probably trust me more if I admitted to killing those people. But I don’t feel right lying to you about that.” 

He paused, like he had to gather his thoughts, but when he spoke again, Sean realized that he was uncomfortable admitting what he had to say. 

“I’d rather you didn’t tell the guys in Em City about this – the inmates or the hacks. The only thing that keeps them away from me is my reputation. If they think I’m a badass serial killer, they’re more likely to leave me alone. If they think I’m an innocent man who got framed, the predators who haunt Oz would never give me a moment’s peace.”

“But from what you just said, you’re a demon hunter. That wouldn’t give you enough rep?”

“Not as much as a serial killer would. Besides, they’d have to believe in demons, and I can guarantee you that at least half of the men in Em City that actually saw the transformation last night are going to deny it by tomorrow.”

He smiled grimly at Sean’s look of surprise. “I know what you’re thinking. I used to call it Hellmouth Blindness, but now I know that it happens everywhere. No one wants to believe they’ve seen a demon, and at least half of them are going to find a way to convince themselves that they didn’t. Maybe it was a joke on the guards, or a really elaborate escape attempt. I don’t know, but their minds aren’t going to accept what they saw, so they’ll find a plausible explanation that works for them, even if it’s totally wrong.”

Sean could actually believe that, now that he’d explained what he meant. Who the hell _wants_ to believe in demons? But the name he called the phenomenon was odd. 

“What’s a Hellmouth?”

“My hometown had a portal to other dimensions in it.” Harris kept talking, despite Sean’s incredulous look. 

“Hellmouth portals are linked to dimensions that are close enough to the Hell in the bible that they’re named after the dimensions. Ours may have been sealed off, but even so, the whole town was suffused with the evil that leaked out of that seal. That’s why we had so many demons in Sunnydale, they were attracted to the malevolent power they could feel in the area. If they weren’t munching on the local humans, they were trying to find a way to open the seal, or at least harness its power. It took practically all our time to control them.”

“Why didn’t the townspeople leave, or band together to fight the… demons.”

Xander smiled at Sean’s pause. “That’s where Hellmouth Blindness comes in. They may see a demon, but their minds just plant some sort of shield against the truth sinking in. They’d see the body of a man, drained of blood, and twin holes created by a vampire’s teeth in his neck, and their minds would translate that into a bizarre accident with a barbeque fork.”

“Barbeque fork?” Sean laughed. 

“Seriously, I’m not joking on that one.” He made the motion of stabbing himself with something. “Right in the throat.”

Sean shook his head. “But we don’t have a ‘Hellmouth’.”

“Well, I could argue that Oswald _is_ a Hellmouth, but that’s not true, despite the fact that there are times it feels like one. When the Sunnydale Hellmouth was destroyed, and my home town sank into the pit left behind, I started traveling. That’s when I learned that those who were touched by magic either already knew about demons or accepted the fact much easier than anyone else. But the rest, well, at least seventy percent fell into their own version of Hellmouth blindness. It’s everywhere.” 

Sean had plenty more questions to ask, they hadn’t even gotten to werewolves. But he didn’t get the chance. The sound of a key in the lock had both their attention in a second. Sean sat up and pulled his foot off the chair, but the door swung open before he got on his feet, and Ray came in, trailing two C.O.s that usually worked Unit D. The Warden had everyone working overtime until they found this guy. He wasn’t going to be a happy camper when he saw the total for that bill. All for a werewolf. Jesus Christ.

“Hey, Padre! Qué pasa?”

Ray thanked the officers, and they took off with a reminder to lock the door behind them. He did, but Sean wasn’t sure that would be enough of a deterrent; if a werewolf wanted in, he’d get in. Hopefully they wouldn’t have anything he would want. What exactly would a werewolf want? Besides out of this place. That was a given. Pretty much everyone, employees and inmates, would like to be elsewhere.

Ray deposited an armful of books and other paraphernalia on his desk, and came over to sit next to Harris. “Qué pasa, Xander? Let’s see. I’ve been visiting friends and coming up with some interesting information. But it sounds like those of you here in Oz are having all the fun.”

Sean laughed. “Fun? Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

Frowning, Ray got up and stood over Sean, hands on his hips. “Have you been involved in the search? With that leg…”

“No, no,” Sean assured him. “I’ve been sitting around all day, while the rest of the C.O.s did the walking.” He put his foot back up on the chair, and reminded himself to bring in some pillows for Ray’s chairs. They were uncomfortable as hell. Ray found the icepack on the floor, and replaced it. 

Sean wondered how he’d managed to talk his way into the prison. There was a very short list that was allowed in right now, and it didn’t include any of the ‘civilian’ employees, aside from the infirmary staff. “You’ve been keeping in touch with Gloria, haven’t you?” he accused Ray.

Ray smiled. “Guilty as charged.” He looked over at Xander. “So I hear we’ve had our first brush with the supernatural.” 

Sean sighed. He should have known. Harris had been filling Ray’s head with all this nonsense. He had to reluctantly include a provisional note to ‘all this nonsense,’ since he knew for a fact that werewolves existed. If they did, it’s not likely that they lived in a vacuum; the chances had increased that there were other paranormal creatures out there. He still didn’t believe Harris’ whole ‘a demon set me up’ scenario, though. That seemed awfully convenient, since there was no way for Harris to prove it, but no way for others to disprove it, either.

Harris was excited, telling Ray the whole story from last night's lockup on, his eye alive and sparkling in a way Sean only seldom saw. It kind of annoyed him that it was all for Ray. But then, it really wasn’t. Sean hadn’t heard everything, either. It answered a lot of questions, especially that bit about seeing intelligence in the werewolf’s eyes. Sean found that as frightening as Harris did. This thing wasn’t going to go down easy.


	16. Chapter 16

Father Ray had collected a number of herbal remedies that, according to his texts, were associated with _controlling_ a wolf, but only one that was supposed to help them kill it. Murphy accused him of being concerned with its human half, and disregarding the wolf. But this werewolf had been in its human form when it killed one officer and maimed a nurse. 

Murphy declared loudly that it needed to die. And Xander found himself agreeing. The intelligence in Benser’s eyes kept coming back to him over and again. He was aware of what he’d done – it wasn’t like Oz, who had done his best to find ways to control his wolf. Of course, Benser hadn’t really had much choice. He kinda felt guilty about scaring him enough to try to escape, but he had a feeling Benser would have done it, in any event. Chances were he’d never know. He found it a relief when Father Ray pulled him over to the desk, to go through Ray’s books and potions. Most of it was crap, but there was one thing that he knew would help.

“Monkshood! How the hell did you get monkshood? Oh, wait. It’s detoxified, isn’t it?” Well, it wouldn’t kill the wolf, then, but it might slow him down.

“Yes, but they still told me to be careful with it. I brought gloves.” 

Father Ray showed off his laytex gloves, and Xander laughed. “Better safe than sorry.”

“It’s poisonous?” Murphy asked, paying attention to what they were doing for the first time.

“Oh yes,” the Padre said. “It’s also known as wolvesbane, you may have heard of it?

Murphy shrugged. “On the TV. Will it kill the wolf?”

“Not in the detoxified form,” Xander told him, “but you can fill up these little cloth bags, and pin it to your clothes. It’s not going to stop a wolf in his tracks. If he’s intent on eating you, he’ll do it anyway. But it might turn him away, if he’s just looking for a tasty snack.”

He showed Father Ray how to fill the bags up, and he snapped on his gloves and got to work while Xander poked around in the stuff he’d gathered.

“Unfortunately, the wolfsbane is the only thing you’ve got here that’s going to do us any good. That’s the problem with the lack of science involved in most magic, anyone can write a spell. That doesn’t mean it’s going to do anything, and if it does, it may not do what you intended. Witchcraft is tricky that way, you have to be very careful with it. You have to know what you’re doing. And that means studying, and lots of it. Personally, it’s too much work for me. Give me an axe and a stake, and I’m good to go.”

Xander was busy repacking all the crap back into the Padre’s bags again, and it took a moment before he realized it had gotten deathly silent in the room. He looked up, and realized that they were both staring at him, horrified looks on their faces. 

Xander sighed. He ought to be used to this by now, right? Obviously not. “For _demon hunting_ , guys. We were talking about hunting demons, remember?”

Ray took a quick breath, and Xander wondered if he’d actually stopped breathing there for a minute. He felt himself just droop with the weight of all the crap that Davraad had thrown on his shoulders. He’d actually forgotten about it for a few minutes. He’d felt normal again. Well, as normal as he got. But one innocent slipup with an axe, and look how quickly his good mood crumbled to the ground. 

“Of course we were. Sorry, Xander. You have to remember, for months before we met you, we knew who you were. There was so much hype on the TV about _The Hunter_.” Xander could hear the capitals in that sentence. “It’s not always easy to remember that that’s not actually who you are.”

Xander shrugged it off, and changed the subject, there was no changing how people saw you, so why even try? “So your intention is to find a way to control the werewolf, not kill it?”

Ray paused in filling up his bags, and spoke to him honestly. “Well, I’d rather we didn’t have to. There’s still a human in there, even when he’s in his werewolf form.”

“Yeah, okay. I can agree with that,” Murphy said. 

Xander knew there was a ‘but’ in that sentence and he was right. 

“But he’s also a werewolf who’s not bound by his werewolf nature when he’s in that form. He knew he was doing damage to those people. He ripped the throat right out of Darryl Heroy. Not only is that murder, but Heroy left a wife and two sons behind. He’s killed twice now, Ray, and severely wounded that nurse. She’s going to be month’s healing, she may never have complete use of her right arm again.”

“Murphy’s right. He knew what he was doing,” Xander added. “He may have felt he was trapped, and didn’t have a choice, but if the tranquilizers don’t take him down, and he goes at another person, they’ll have to use deadly force.” 

“Yes, I understand. I just don’t like the thought of it.”

“The biggest problem is, their guns don’t have the right bullets. Those bullets will hurt, and if he’s hit with enough, they’ll take him down. They _may_ even be able to kill him if they get enough of them in him. But the only way to make sure he’s dead is to get silver in his veins. Silver’s a deadlier, faster working poison than even wolfsbane, at least to werewolves it is. I hate to say it, guys, but we need silver bullets.”

Ray sighed, pulled off his gloves, and dug around in his pocket. He came up with a small blue bag. He opened it, and poured six silver bullets into his palm.

“Holy crap!” Xander was amazed. They’d had to make their own, the last time they’d encountered a wolf. “Okay, maybe holy’s the wrong word, but … Wow.”

Murphy opened his mouth, and Father Ray jumped in, “Just don’t ask me where I got them. I won’t tell you.”

Murphy’s mouth snapped closed, and Xander had to laugh. Murphy made him laugh all the time. He usually had to hide it, there was no way he could let another inmate see him laughing at a C.O.’s jokes. Especially this officer. After a month of being followed around by Murphy, some of the inmates were getting downright rude about it. Jokes about his own personal C.O. – does he wipe your ass for you when you take a shit? If he didn’t like Murphy so much, he’d be really pissed at him by now.

Murphy took the bullets from Ray, and studied them, a frown on his face. He was probably upset that it couldn’t be him to put Benser down. But his ankle was a mess, he really couldn’t keep up with the rest of the pack, let alone get close enough to put bullets in Benser’s heart. He slumped down into Ray’s desk chair, and poured the bullets back into their bag, setting it on the desk.

“Nine millimeter rounds?” he asked. 

Ray nodded. “It’s what the SORT team’s pistols take. I thought it was the best bet, but I have .40s and .45s, too. Just in case.”

Xander laughed. A priest that carried bullets in the pockets of his hoodie just struck Xander as about as bizarre as it came. The fact that he knew what caliber rounds the SORT team used, was icing on the cake. 

Both Murphy and Ray looked at him, but he didn’t know how to explain what was going on in his head, so he just changed the subject. “Now the only problem we’ve got is finding someone with a gun. I’m a decent shot, but I doubt anyone here is going to hand me a pistol.”

Murphy barked a short laugh, which Xander judged a good enough answer.

The knock on the door startled them all. The Padre opened the door carefully, and the woman who ran the C.O.s in Unit B slid quietly into the room, closing the door behind her. The tag on her uniform said Phelan, and Xander filed that information away. He’d seen her with both the Padre and Murphy fairly often, so he figured they were all friends. 

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” She seemed surprised that Xander was there, but not as surprised as Xander had expected. Maybe Ray had told her that they’d talked fairly often for the last week or so. 

“Why? What’s happened?” Murphy was back on his feet again. He was never going to heal if he didn’t stop that.

“We’ve got a line on the werewolf. He’s been playing with us, but I think we’re getting closer. If I don’t miss my guess, he’s headed this way.” She looked at Father Ray. “I saw your light earlier, so I figured at least one of you was here. You need to leave _now_ , this door isn’t strong enough to hold him.”

The Padre just ignored what she was saying; his focus was elsewhere. “Is that a handgun in your waistband, Andrea?”

Her eyes went wide with surprise at that tangent. She hadn’t expected that. “What?” She reached down to touch the gun stuck in her waistband. “Yeah. I’m going to shoot the hell out of that motherfucker. I know you think he’s got his reasons, Padre, but he’s gone too far. We’ve lost Klockner.” 

Murphy fell into the desk chair again, shaking his head. Father Ray closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross, and whispered briefly under his breath. Phelan and Murphy followed his lead, both lowering their heads for just a moment. 

Then Phelan looked up, and continued. “He even killed Klockner’s dog! He’s going down.”

The Padre shook his head. “Not without extra help, he’s not.” He looked at Murphy, and Murphy nodded. It looked like they’d already decided that she was the one they needed. 

“What the hell do you mean by that?” She looked cautious. It looked like she knew they had some tricks in their bag.

“Is that a nine millimeter?” Xander was constantly surprised at Ray. In Xander’s mind, priests shouldn’t know about semi-automatic weapons.

“Yeah, it’s Rick Heim’s Colt. He’s on tranq duty. He didn’t need it, so I borrowed it.”

“That’s perfect. We have something for you.” Ray approached her and handed her the blue bag. She poured the bullets into her hand. They shone in the light. 

“I had the SORT team’s handguns in mind when we made these. I figured I’d turn them over to SORT, but I think you’re a better choice.”

Phelan picked one up and examined it. “Silver? These are silver?”

“They’ll take down a werewolf,” Xander told her. “Silver is a deadly poison to him. Get one or two rounds in his heart. That will take care of him.”

She looked over at Sean. “We’re taking orders from serial killers these days?”

Xander wasn’t surprised that she was cautious about him. He was more surprised that Murphy and Ray trusted him to tell them what was what.

“We’re taking advice from a seasoned demon hunter.” Murphy limped over to her, and squeezed her arm. “He’s taken down werewolves before. And he knows that this is how it’s done.”

Xander wondered if he should tell them that he didn’t do the deed himself, any of the times he’d been evil werewolf-adjacent. But that would just complicate things that didn’t need complicating right now. 

She put one hand on her hip and poked her finger in Xander’s face. “You better be right, Harris, or I’m going to come back and haunt your ass for a long, long time. Is that clear?”

He swallowed. Damn, she was scary, too. “Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded, satisfied with his response. She pulled out her gun and took out six of the bullets in the clip, sticking them in her pocket. She loaded the silver bullets, and snapped the clip back in place, just as there was a loud crash in the kitchen area. 

“Shit.” She slipped the gun back into her waistband. “Okay, you three stay here. If he’s in the kitchen, it’s not safe to get you out just yet. When I leave, shove that desk in front of the door, and don’t come out until I tell you to. Got it?”

Xander could tell that Murphy wanted to argue. Under other circumstances, Xander’d be arguing the same way about being forced to the sidelines once again. But without anything more than his billy club, Murphy would be as much of a liability as Xander. He must have known it; he clenched his jaw, and nodded. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

She winked at Murphy, and turned back, twisting the doorknob. Xander felt a brief flare of frustration at the easy camaraderie between the two, as Ray raised his hand for a blessing. 

It was too late. 

The door burst inward, and Phelan stumbled back out of the way, one hand to her bleeding stomach from the swipe of Benser’s claws. Ray stumbled backwards in shock, tripping over the edge of his desk. He started to go down, but Murphy caught him before he landed headfirst on the floor. 

Xander grabbed the chair Murphy had been sitting in earlier, rushing in to get between Phelan and the werewolf, to give her time to recover her balance and get out her gun. He smashed the chair into the werewolf’s side, but all it seemed to do was attract his attention, and Xander took a couple of panicked steps backwards before hitting the wall.

Phelan stepped in front of him, as the werewolf took a step their direction. It was the Padre that saved the day. The werewolf started to lunge at Phelan, and Ray flung a handful of those little bags of wolfsbane at him. Benser pulled back out of the way, scowling at the obviously foul smell they put off, giving Phelan time to raise her gun. The werewolf jumped at her, probably expecting this gun to do as little damage as the others had managed. 

Two shots rang out, loud enough, in the small room, to make Xander's ears ring deafeningly. Benser’s eyes got very large as the silver in the bullets worked its magic, and the werewolf stumbled backwards, falling up against the frame of the door before sliding down, his limbs sprawling across the floor. Xander held still, waiting to see if the werewolf would breathe, or not, but there was no movement at all. Then, almost in slow motion, the werewolf’s body melted down into the shape of Benser, right before their eyes. 

Xander’s ears were still ringing; the soft voice of Father Ray barely discernible as he went through whatever prayers it was that dead men needed. Xander had no idea. He grabbed the blanket that belonged on the back of Ray’s couch, and handed it to Murphy, since Phelan was still standing right in front of him, the gun still pointing at Benser. What was it about kick-ass women, that they all thought Xander needed protecting? 

Murphy stared at the blanket for a moment before he realized it was intended to cover Benser’s body. Xander was about to tell Phelan that it was okay, that Benser was dead, but she dropped her arms to her sides, and plopped down on the couch. Murphy hobbled over, and took the gun out of her hand. A silence descended over them. Murphy dropped down onto the couch next to her, and Xander sat in the chair Murphy'd had his foot on earlier. 

Murphy patted Phelan on the leg. “Ya done good, kid.” 

That got a strained chuckle from Phelan. 

Murphy checked out Phelan’s wound, and agreed with her that it was fairly minor, and would be fine until they got to the infirmary. A silence settled over them, and nobody seemed willing to break it. They were still sitting there, when the SORT team found them, five minutes later.


	17. Chapter 17

Another Monday, another staff meeting. Querns was not amused by the Unit Admins for all the units in the prison getting together, without the Warden’s knowledge, to discuss ways to train for supernatural control and takedown methods. He scoffed at the idea, and the Admins who suggested it, but Sean got the idea that they wouldn’t be deterred. 

The staff seemed to be split on the idea, not everyone saw what happened, and Harris’ Hellmouth Blindness was in full effect with most of the others. He had no idea how they could see what happened, and still refuse to admit the fact that the supernatural existed, but there it was: excuse after excuse. No matter what they said, it wasn’t their eyes that needed examining, it was their heads.

At least some people braved the rejection and scorn of the non-believers, Ray being the loudest supporter.

“I am more than willing to bless any amount of water for protection, and you’d be surprised at the amount of good a simple herb can do.” He swallowed, and continued, ignoring Sister Pete’s scowl. “I’m even willing to bless _weapons_ , after consultation with the wielder, or discuss methods of stopping or killing specific demons – I happen to know an expert in the field. I can even get silver bullets. Just remember that they don’t come cheap.” 

Querns rolled his eyes. “Well, do it on your own time, Padre, and under no circumstances should any of these unauthorized techniques or methods be seen by the public, or become known to anyone outside the prison. We could all lose our jobs over this, people. The Department of Corrections’ official take on last week’s disaster is that an inmate who wasn’t taking his psych meds properly blew a gasket, escaped his infirmary bed, killed three officers, and maimed a nurse.”

“You’re blaming it on me?” 

Ouch. Sean didn’t think he’d ever seen the good Sister look so pissed off. Except when she’d been fighting Governor Devlin during the whole death penalty debacle. Warden Glenn had been forced to fire her, and she’d stood outside with the protesters, shouting and praying. She was a fireball when she got started. This could be interesting.

“No! Of course not.” Querns was quick to cover his ass on that one. “Benser had only been in the system for a month, you’d only seen him four times. It’s not your fault that he’d been flushing his pills."

“You’re blaming me.”

He finally gave up. “ _I’m_ not. The Department of Corrections is. Feel free to take it up with Secretary Dutton and Governor Case. Just don’t tell them I told you so; I’m not on top of their list of favorite people at the moment. As a matter of fact, I think they’d really like it if Oz fell into a hole in the ground and disappeared, but since that’s not going to happen, they’re currently ignoring the fact that we even exist.” 

Sean and Ray exchanged an uncomfortable look, both of them remembering the fact that Harris’ hometown had done exactly that, three or four years ago. At least Oz wasn’t on a Hellmouth, or so Harris said. Sean hoped he was right.


	18. Chapter 18

“Nighttime in Times Square. Once crowded with strip clubs, go-go bars, sex shops, and adult theaters, in the 1990’s New York City began a project to clean up the area, closing down the theaters and strip clubs, forcing sex shops and smaller souvenir, lottery, and convenience stores to close up shop, and find other places to sell their wares. They hunted down the junkies and pimps, the johns and the drug dealers, with a vengeful glee, driving those who sought the darkest corners of the Square to do their business away with bright, neon lit signs. While it was true that the newly opened attractions and upscale establishments that appeared in their stead were cleaner, safer, and more tourist friendly, detractors complained that the largest tourist attraction in the world had become homogenized, and the very soul of the Square had been washed away.

“Recently, however, things have changed. The tourists may still mob the Square during the day, but once the sun goes down, Times Square becomes a different world. For a tourist attraction that _requires_ its buildings to advertise their wares spelled out in bright, neon lights, the heart of Times Square has developed a darker, more dangerous air in the last few months, and those who advertise their tourist status with gawking mouths, and snapping cameras, may discover that the Square is no longer the safe tourist spot it once claimed to be.

“The number of assaults, robberies, and deaths in Times Square has tripled in the last three months, and that’s just in the evening hours. Along with the increase in crime and general mayhem, has come the increase in danger of another sort. No matter how often the City officials declare the rumors as lies and scandals used to destroy the tourist trade, the facts are unmistakable. The Big Apple is overrun with vampires.”

Damn. Xander threw down his headphones, and walked away. All he’d wanted to do was sit for a while and enjoy some sitcom that didn’t have anything to do with the supernatural. He should have known to leave, as soon as he realized that the guards had the TVs tuned to a news broadcast. It seemed like the only news that reporters wanted to talk about these days was the supernatural kind.

St. Louis was overrun with giant catfish; Chicago had a zombie infestation; in New Orleans, there were rougarou – the Louisiana version of a werewolf - roaming the nighttime streets. There were primal panthers in Florida; Seattle had a selkie problem; and in Utah, the Native American Shoshone tribes were revolting – or at least their ancestors were. If he ever got the hell out of Oz, Xander planned to steer clear of Utah. He had a firm rule: don’t mess with the ghosts of Native tribes. He shuddered. Been there, done that, got the psychically induced smallpox to prove it. It was like there was some sort of paranormal conspiracy going on, eating away at the country.

Xander knew that it wasn’t just the U.S., though. There was a supernatural war being waged against humanity the world over. Usually, it was the Slayers’ jobs to stop the bigger creeps, and teach the locals how to fight the lesser ones on their own. But they’d started running out of experienced Slayers well before he was arrested, and they’d been sending inexperienced girls in where they needed older, wiser heads, hoping that increasing the numbers would help make up for lack of experience. When Buffy and Willow had disappeared, Xander had almost panicked, but he’d had a job to do, so he kept doing it, hoping that they’d sort things out in England, and find them both.

And now he was stuck here in Oswald, in his own version of hell, wondering what to do next. Not that there was really any option. He’d wait right here like he had for the past three months, and if they never showed up, he’d die here, and that was what frightened him. What if they never showed? This could be it, for the rest of his life, what there was of it.

He hadn’t had too many challenges or attempts on his life, recently. Not since that first month. He thought that had something to do with the fact that he’d become the guy they came to when they needed knowledge of the supernatural. He was pretty sure they thought he knew magic, which was a laugh, but he did know protective runes, and signs against lots of different phenomenon. He also knew quite a few Latin phrases that had almost turned Ray’s hair white when he said them. He'd promised Ray not to repeat them, and he hadn’t, not too often. But whatever had done it, his life had been remarkably assault free for the last couple of months. Knock on wood.

He missed his friends, though. Not that he didn’t like his new friends. Okay, not all of them, but some of them he liked. Ray was a lot of fun. He could be snarky as hell for a priest. He was getting along with Murphy, too, which was pretty cool. Murphy had more of a sense of humor than most people thought. When the three of them got going, they were a menace. He wished he could bring Alvarez in on the fun – Ray wouldn’t mind, he and Alvarez had a deep respect for each other. But it was pretty clear that Murphy couldn’t see Alvarez as anything but a menace, and there was no changing that.

He was surprised that Ray and Murphy accepted _him_ , despite the fact that they had nothing but Xander’s word that he wasn’t a serial killer. At first, he got the idea that they both still thought of him that way, but not anymore. At least, not Ray. Now Murphy – that guy was hard to figure out. But Xander liked him a lot. He felt comfortable around him. Murphy didn’t treat him like a serial killer, at least not in private. In front of others, Murphy was cool as a cucumber, but get him alone, and he started to relax, and let down his defenses. He had a nice smile.

Xander reached his pod, and plopped down on his bunk, just as he remembered that he’d finished his book last night. He’d have to go to the library for a new one if he wanted to stay sane tonight after lockdown. There’s only so much solitaire you can play in one night, and if Alvarez wasn’t in the mood for poker, he’d be stuck staring at the underside of Alvarez’ mattress for endless hours.

It was his day off, so he hadn’t even thought about the library all day. Well, time for a new book. He grabbed the one he’d just finished, and headed to the guard’s station to pick up an escort. Murphy usually followed him everywhere, but he’d taken a few days off, so Xander’d had either Mineo or Anderson all week.

When he got there, Stella and Rebadow were whispering in the corner, and he gave them a wave as he dropped off his old book, and headed to the scifi section for something action/adventurey. He was just browsing, nothing had really grabbed his attention, yet. Someone was mumbling from the table behind Xander, and he turned around to discover Poet was talking to himself as he scribbled in a notebook.

Xander stepped up behind him, and asked, in a low, library kind of voice, “What ‘cha working on, Poet?”

Poet jumped in his chair, and started cursing loudly. Stella stood up from her desk, and stared in their direction, and Xander quickly sat in the chair next to Poet, and said, “Hey, shhhh… Stella is watching, and it looks like she’s headed this way!”

Poet shut up, and Xander waved at Stella, who gave them both an evil librarian stare before turning back to the desk. Xander felt a flash of nostalgia; Giles had had one of those stares, too.

“Man, you scared the shit outta me,” Poet whispered. “What're you doing, standing behind me like that?”

Xander sighed heavily. Poet was a regular at the library, and he and Xander had talked a fair amount about books, and other things. But it didn’t matter how many times he talked to someone here, they still expected him to turn into a maniac and kill them as soon as they turned their backs on him.

“Don’t worry; I gave up axe murdering for Lent.” He had no idea when Lent was, but it always made the Catholics laugh.

Poet apologized. “Sorry, man, it’s just habit. You know how it is in here. You gotta be on your toes all the time. But I got caught up in my poem, and you took me by surprise.”

Xander supposed it was especially like that for Poet. He was one of the Homeboys, selling drugs for that guy Redding. He’d even offered some to Xander a time or two before he figured out that Xander wasn’t interested. But when you were slinging the heavy shit, you had to be aware of what was going on around you.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“Nah, it’s no big.” Poet brushed it off. “Just bad timing, is all.”

“You working on a new poem?” Xander liked his poems. He had no doubt that he didn’t get near everything, but the parts that made sense to him were image-heavy and rich with fascinating ideas.

“Yeah, you wanna hear it?”

“Sure!” He glanced up to the main desk, to check on Stella, but she was busy talking to Pablo, one of her favorite workers. “Just keep it low, all right?”

“Yeah, okay, Book Man, I can do that.”

Xander grinned. He liked that nickname. It was a hell of a lot better than The Hunter.

Poet started reading, keeping his voice low.

> “Don't let me go,  
>  Reala, gorilla,  
>  Bad nigger, driller.  
>  Double live, cross-eyed,  
>  See-you-from-the-side schemer.  
>  Type of nigger, bangs his chest when he fights,  
>  For he's in too much truth,  
>  So, we see the blessings of night,  
>  Blessings of calm.  
>  Nothing lays waiting,  
>  Imagining what he hold in his palm,  
>  Holding in his dream.  
>  500 years of hate just building like steam,  
>  Mounting like Kilamanjaro  
>  So, just wait until tomorrow  
>  When things get right with me.  
>  I'm gonna smite the wicked,  
>  Step off easy.”

Xander nodded. “I can almost see the kind of guy you’re talking about. The hate building up like steam. Yeah, I like it.”

“You do?” Poet shook his head. “You know, you blow me away, every time I talk to you.”

“I do? What do you mean?”

“Look at you.” He held his hands up, catching Xander’s face in the frame of his fingers. “A big bad serial killer listening to a poet. That’s not a serial killer thing to do.”

“It’s not? What’s a serial killer _supposed_ to do?” Well, aside from murder people, which he’d avoided doing since he’d gotten here, and hoped to continue doing.

“Are there groups I should belong to? Rules I’m supposed to follow? A secret handshake would be cool.”

Poet laughed quietly. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I can do whatever I want.” Xander proclaimed. He glanced over at the hack Anderson, who was watching him as they spoke, “Well, within reason. But I can listen to a poem if I want. Nobody’s got the right to tell me I can’t.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Poet agreed reluctantly.

Poet was in for two murders, himself, but he never seemed to act like a bad guy, at least not to Xander. He obviously needed to be reminded that even poets could be tough guys. The image of Spike rose in Xander's mind’s eye. He’d relied on that image a lot since he’d been in Oz. He may have been an asshole, but Spike made one hell of a good impression.

“You know, one of the biggest, bad-assed killers I ever knew wrote poetry.”

“Oh yeah?” That pulled Poet’s interest in damn quick.

“It sucked. But he wrote it, anyway.” Offered with a deadpan delivery, that truth hit home, and served its purpose.

Poet’s eyes got large, his whole body shaking as he forced back his laughter, one hand clamped over his mouth. When he had recovered enough to talk, he wiped his eyes. “Shit. You got me with that one. I haven’t laughed that hard in forever. You a writer, too?”

Xander was shocked at the idea. “Oh, hell no.” Xander pulled back, his hands in front of him as if to hold that thought away. “I’m no poet.”

“How do you know? You might just be. Maybe you should give it a try.”

Poet pushed the idea, but Xander knew his talents didn’t lie in that direction. “Nah. I’ll just listen to yours, if that’s okay.”

Poet conceded the point. “That’s cool, too.”

Something that had been tickling the back of his brain for a while now, surfaced, as he thought of Spike. “You ever read anything by the… What did he call them? The Beat poets?”

“Beat poets? What the hell’s that?”

“This guy, Spike. The badass poet I was talking about. He told me about them. They lived in the fifties, and took LSD. That’s all I remember about them, but Spike, he quoted the beginning of one of those guy’s poems to me, and when I listen to you read your poetry, you kind of remind me of that poem. I can’t think of his name. It’ll probably come to me, sooner or later. I’ll let you know, if it does.”

“That’d be cool, Book Man.”

“Good.” Xander grinned again. He liked that name. “I’ll get back to my books. Just remember to keep the noise down, okay?”

Poet looked back up at Stella, who was helping some guy find a book. “Right, I’ll chill it, man.”

Xander went back to the scifi novels, and eventually found one that sounded good. Then he went over to the 811s, and poked around for a while. He was surprised that he found what he was looking for so easily. He opened up the book with the black and white front, and started to read.

> _I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving_ _hysterical naked,_  
>  _dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,_  
>  _angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night…_

He thought about the night when Xander and Spike had been out patrolling, that summer when Buffy was dead - before they brought her back to life. Spike and the Scoobies had been all that stood between the demons and the Hellmouth that long summer. Xander hadn’t really understood a lot of the poem, but he had a feeling that Poet might get it. He hoped so anyway.

As he left, he dropped the book off at Poet’s table, the word _Howl_ in bold black letters across the front. The title seemed kind of appropriate for a world that suddenly had a werewolf problem.

Poet’s whispered voice came to him as he walked away.

“Thanks, Book Man.”

Xander laughed. Where else but in prison, could someone like Xander Harris become a Book Man?


	19. Chapter 19

Sean slammed his car door closed, and glanced up at Oswald with its towers and razor wire. It seemed so imposing at night with the bright spotlights and sharp shadows. Back to the grindstone. He’d spent the week in Attica, hanging out with old friends. Most of them had gone through high school together, the Correctional Services Training Academy together, and worked at Attica as C.O.s together for years. 

He’d have loved to have Tim along for the week, but he'd known there would be those who’d resent having someone there who hadn’t come up through the ranks. Tim had never been a C.O. He was a government appointee, and no matter what his qualifications, his college degrees, or his current position in Oz, they’d have never accepted him, whether they’d known each other growing up, or not. To be honest, he doubted Tim would have enjoyed the week as much as he did, anyway. Attica hadn’t played a large part in Tim’s life, once he left for college. Neither of them had much family there anymore; their ties to their life in Attica were growing slimmer all the time.

He’d planned his vacation so that he’d have the weekend to relax before hitting the grind again on Monday. He should have known that would never happen. Here he was on Friday night, not so very fresh from the drive, covering an overnight shift for one of his team. And he’d be covering Saturday and Sunday’s shifts for a different C.O. As one of the guys said earlier in the week – Sean was not a happy camper. 

He’d think they were plotting something, if it weren’t for the fact that over the last two weeks, most of the C.O.s, and a good percentage of the inmates had come down with some kind of nasty stomach flu. He’d missed catching it the week before his vacation, and he’d hoped that the flu would have died out while he was gone, and he’d come back to a healthy prison. He laughed at that thought. When was prison ever healthy for anyone?

Shaking his head, he left his car behind; he’d leave the philosophy of prisons in the hands of people like Tim and Ray. They both loved teasing out the meanings of things, and for that matter, building meanings into things. Sean was the one who got down in it, and got his hands dirty. Philosophy was not for him.

Ahead of him, someone stumbled on the steps leading to the door. Sean caught up with him, just in time to stop him from going head first into the bricks. 

“Whoa, fella.”

Tom Robinson blinked puzzled eyes at him, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “Murphy? What are you doing back? I thought you weren’t due back until Monday.”

“Unfortunately, no one told that to the damned stomach flu. I’m covering for Tosh tonight, and for the next two nights I’ve got Latimer’s shifts.” He dumped his shit onto the desk and ran the metal detector. The guy at the desk was new, probably a replacement for a sick C.O., but he did his job, and Sean signed the clipboard and tucked all his stuff back into his pockets.

Tom had trouble focusing on the sheet, but he finally signed a shaky signature for the guy. “Well, maybe Marjorie will be feeling better by Sunday, and can cover her own shift.”

“Not likely, Tom, she’s in the hospital.”

“Damn.”

Sean laughed. “That’s what I said.”

They headed on down to the locker room, and now that they were under the lights, Sean took in Tom’s appearance. His face was white and chalky, and he had a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His cheeks, the only spot of color on his face, were the bright red of fever, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. His clothes looked like he’d slept in them.

“Phelan has been complaining all week that Oz was just too quiet with you gone.”

Sean could hear her now, and he grinned at the thought. He’d have to see her before she left for the day. Besides, someone needed to talk to her about Robinson. The guy was a mess. He opened his locker, and stuffed his duffle bag inside.

“So how’s that serial killer guy doing? The one that liked to play slice and dice with people’s body parts. What’s his name…Harris? Yeah, that’s him. What’s up with him?” 

Robinson was sitting on the bench down the middle of the rows of lockers, fumbling with his shoestrings. But his eyes were very intent as he stared at Sean, who suddenly felt like he was under a microscope.

“Well, I haven’t been here for a week, but before I left he seemed to be settling in pretty well.”

Damn. Just when he’d managed to go for close to half an hour without thinking about Harris, Robinson blew him out of the water. Not like he would have been able to go too much longer, he’d be seeing the guy once his shift started, anyway.

“I heard he knows magic. You ever see him do a spell?” Tom's eyes were suddenly sharp and clear, and his questions were quite focused. That was odd. 

“Magic? Harris? Where’d you get that idea?” 

“He’s got runes and shit on his arm. And his eye. He’s been here three months, and none of the prisoners have figured out yet that he’s got a fake eye. What’s up with that?”

“Yeah, that’s true. It’s a pretty good fake eye, though. And the symbols on his arm, that’s just a tattoo, I don’t think it means anything. As far as I know, he doesn’t do magic.”

He really didn’t. Harris always swore that he didn’t like messing with ‘mojo.’ But he wasn’t about to tell that to Robinson. He’d want to know how Sean knew what he knew, and there was no way he was telling Robinson that Ray, Harris, Phelan, and Sean sat in Ray’s office and talked about the supernatural. Among other things. Besides, those weren’t his secrets to tell. Sean pulled his uniform shirt on and started buttoning it up. He wasn’t telling Robinson anything. He was starting to creep Sean out. What the hell was up with him?

He closed his locker, and locked it up. “Well, have fun tonight, Tom.” 

He glanced back over at Robinson. He stood with one shoe dangling from his hand, turning the other shoe around, staring at it from all sides. When he looked up, his eyes were foggy again, and Sean wondered briefly if he hadn’t just made all that crap up. Phelan said he had no imagination, but he had one, it just wasn’t as easy to access as hers was. 

“You okay, Tom? Maybe you should take the night off.”

“What? Oh, no. Can’t do that. I don’t have any sick days left.” He threw one shoe in his open locker. “I’ll be fine; the inmates will be locked up all night. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

Robinson went back to staring at his other shoe, and Sean headed out. He definitely needed to have a talk with Phelan.

Sean went by Ray’s office first chance he got, and ran into Phelan on her way out of the cafeteria. She gave him all sorts of hell over letting the Warden sucker him into cutting his vacation short. He’d known she would. He was surprised to see Robinson still there, guarding the silverware while Unit B ate dinner, but she thought he’d be okay. He’d recovered from his poor start to the night, and Sean could tell he was in better shape from clear across the room. He snapped a smart salute at the two of them when he caught them staring at him. Sean agreed to check up on Robinson later in his shift. He wouldn’t tell Ray that, though. He thought Sean was too much of a pushover as it was.

When he raised his hand to knock on Ray’s door, he realized it was cracked open. He stepped inside to find Ray at the desk, going through some files, a cigarette dangling from his lips. 

“I can’t believe you let them sucker you into covering third shift all weekend.”

“When did Phelan have time to tell you? I just spoke to her.” Sean laughed to himself, he'd been right about the first words out of Ray’s mouth.

“She didn’t have to. I overheard a couple of the officers talking earlier in the breakroom.”

“News travels fast.” He plopped down in the chair that had replaced the one Harris had broken on the werewolf. That seemed like such a long time ago. At least now the chairs had cushions.

“Yeah, around here it does.” 

Ray dropped the files on his desk, and sat back in his chair. “How was your visit?” 

“Not bad. I had a good time. Played basketball and football, sat around and drank beer and reminisced, talked about the crap going on in the world these days, visited my parent’s graves, went bowling.”

Ray’s smile was bright. “Sounds like my seminary reunion. Did you resolve all the problems of the world?”

“Not this time” Sean said, regretfully. “They were all just as befuddled about what’s going on as we are.”

Ray blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. “Well, can’t blame them there.”

“Nope.” It was a sad state of affairs when a bunch of guys sitting around drinking beer and reminiscing about their best years couldn’t come up with at least a few solutions to the world’s ills.

“Did it work?” Ray stubbed out his cigarette, and gave Sean his full attention.

“Did what work?” Sean had no idea why he was using stall tactics, he knew Ray would get all the information he was digging for. But he’d spent the whole drive back trying to come up with a better answer, and still hadn’t found one.

Ray gave him an arched eyebrow, and Sean gave in. 

“Not one tiny bit. All week, all I thought about was how much I wished he was there. I wished I could sneak in a beer, ‘cause remember the time he told us how much he missed the taste? I thought of how much he’d have appreciated the meal I had with my cousin on Thursday. She had the chocolate fudge cake for desert.”

Ray laughed. Chocolate was Xander’s downfall.

“I’m so sorry it didn’t help, Sean.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got it bad.” He slumped in his seat. “You think I was bad when I obsessed about Tim? That’s nothing to the obsession I can feel building up in me this time.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do something. If you keep grinning like you do every time you see him, or his name gets mentioned, you’re going to get fired. And I don’t want that to happen.”

“No. Neither do I.” Sean propped his arms on the edge of Ray’s desk, and let his forehead drop down onto them. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten this bad, but it hadn’t been three months since Harris showed up in Em City, and Sean's life had changed drastically. The problem was, he couldn’t even say it was a change for the worse. He didn’t regret knowing Xander, even though he could admit to regret when it came to the knowledge of the supernatural that Xander had brought with him. Unfortunately, the two were tightly interwoven. You couldn’t have one without the other. 

“So. The new word for the week?”

Sean looked up curiously. 

“Subtle. You’ve got to learn to be subtle.” 

He knew Ray’s advice was good, but it was so hard.

“Subtle.” He sighed. “I can do this.”

“I know you can.” Ray didn’t sound as convinced as Sean would have liked. But the pep talk just brought into clearer focus the entire scope of the problem.

“Ray, I am in so much trouble.”

Ray reached over, and patted Sean’s hand. “I know, Sean. I know.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Gin.”

Xander pulled his attention back from the gate, and focused on Alvarez. “What?”

He reached out and spread out Alvarez’ cards, so he could see what Alvarez had laid down. Underneath a few pairs of low cards and even a few singles, he’d thrown a mix of crap, to make it look like he had enough to win the game. 

“You are so full of shit!” 

Xander threw his cards down in the middle, while Alvarez cackled his laughter. It was his own fault. The Em City rumor mill had spewed out the gossip that Murphy was back in Oz three days early, and Xander couldn’t concentrate. That’s why he’d convinced them all to move to tables close to the gate in the first place. 

“Yeah? Well at least I’m playing this game. What the hell are you doing?” He leaned forward so no one but Xander could hear what he was saying. “Watching the gate for a certain C.O., perhaps?”

Xander cringed. “Am I that obvious?”

Alvarez nodded. “You’re pretty damn obvious, at least if you know what you’re looking for.”

From the table next to theirs, Rebadow leaned over, and murmured. “Look who just walked in the door.”

Xander couldn’t help it; his head swung that direction, without any conscious effort on his part. There Murphy was.

Everyone laughed, except Xander. 

“Bastards. You’re all bastards.”

Rebadow smiled gently. “He does cut a fine figure in that uniform.” 

Busmalis added his two cents. “If you like hacks.” 

“If you like men,” Alvarez added. 

O’Reily shrugged. “You got good taste.” 

Everyone looked over at him in shock. Xander thought the only person O’Reily had eyes for was Gloria Nathan, and he’d definitely never mentioned a bisexual inclination before. 

“What? He’s Black Irish, and so am I.” O’Reily shook his head. “You people are twisted.” 

Murphy walked right by without even a glance. He did that all the time, though. He took his job seriously. Xander really needed to follow his example. If the men in Oz knew the amount of time he spent hanging out with C.O.s, he wouldn’t last very long.

O’Reily was watching Xander with a nasty grin on his face. Xander started picking up the cards on the table, but that grin was annoying. 

“What?”

“He walked right by, not even a glance.” His voice was dripping with saccharine disappointment for the slight to Xander. 

“Yeah, well, what’s he supposed to do?” asked Beecher. 

He watched as two Homeboys walked by before saying anything else. Xander appreciated it. They’d been pretty discrete about his ‘crush,’ even O’Reily. But then he was having an affair with a member of the staff, so maybe he understood what Xander felt. They were sitting in a corner, so there were few people around them, for the most part. 

Once the Homeboys were gone, Beecher continued. “Should he offer Harris flowers and candy? If this wasn’t our well-kept secret, we’d be picking up pieces of Harris all over Em City.”

“Some secret,” O’Reily said. “There are seven people in this room who know, that’s at least five too many.”

“No,” Xander said. “Only six. I wouldn’t say anything to Murphy. He has no clue.”

“You sure about that?” asked Busmalis.

“Pretty sure.” Xander looked over at Rebadow. “Bob? Has God weighed in on this subject?”

Rebadow frowned. “As a matter of fact, he hasn’t.” 

O’Reily leaned forward. “Does God know why he’s back early? Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Well, that’s simple. We have a flu epidemic. He’s a dedicated man.”

O’Reily laughed. “Right. He’s been on vacation all week. Nobody’s _that_ dedicated.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Xander. “He must be here to admire your pretty face.”

“Yeah, right.” If there were any reasons that Murphy would want to spend time with Xander, his looks would be close to the bottom of the list. Xander knew he looked okay, but he was nothing special. But he could make Murphy laugh. That was much more important.

Xander started shuffling the deck in his hands, and the group settled back into their games. Rebadow and Busmalis played checkers, and Xander and Alvarez played Gin. Beecher and O’Reily had a chess game going, and Xander was not surprised that O’Reily was damn good at the game. He was all about strategy, and plans, and details. Xander preferred a good game of dodge ball, but that didn’t have a lot of proponents here in Oz. Too bad. Dodge ball was simple. You threw the ball at the other side, and they dodged it, or caught it. Those were the options. Simple, and to the point. Just like Xander.

One of the hacks from Unit B came in, and Murphy met him on the stairs up to the guard station. Xander noticed, because that was the kind of thing he did these days. Entertainment was hard to come by, and good gossip was like gold. He couldn’t hear what was said from across the room, but it was a heated discussion. Angry words were exchanged. Murphy turned away and went back up the stairs, so his back was turned when the hack headed back to the gate. What was odd was that the guard watched Xander all the way to the gate, his stare sharp enough to cut.

“What the hell was that about?” O’Reily was looking at Xander, but he had no clue.

“Who knows? I’ve seen him around, but I’m pretty sure he’s in Unit B. I’ve never talked to him, or anything.”

“Well,” Busmalis reminded them, “You are a bit of a celebrity.”

“I don’t know,” Alvarez said. “It looked like he had a grudge, to me.” 

Xander agreed, that had looked kind of grudgey to him.

“His name is Robinson.” Of course, Bob would know. Bob knew everything. “Maybe you should stay away from him, Xander. He didn’t look very friendly.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do that.”

Murphy came down the stairs, and left through the gate. 

“I feel like we’re playing musical hacks.” Busmalis looked around, as if seeing who was next.

Alvarez set down his hand. “Gin.”

“What?”


	21. Chapter 21

“I really don’t understand what’s going on, Tom.” Querns looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. 

Robinson definitely didn’t need to be working tonight in his condition, but it seemed Sean was the only one who didn’t want to ignore that fact. 

Robinson opened his mouth to respond, but Querns cut him off.

“The good Sister left early today, so she couldn’t have asked you to pick up an inmate - from another Unit, might I add - for a meeting that didn’t exist!”

“But Warden…”

“Ah-ah!” Querns held his finger up as a deterrent, and surprisingly enough, it worked. “No interruptions. Whatever caused the screw up, it’s over now. Just remember that unless you hear from me personally, you will never be assigned a task from a unit other than your own. Is that understood?”

Robinson nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Querns smiled his usual slimy smile. “Now get your ass back to Unit B, and this time, stay there.” 

Sean watched Robinson as he left the Warden’s office. Something was going on, but he just couldn’t figure it out.

Querns turned his focus to Sean. “Have a seat, Sean. We need to have a talk.”

Oh, fuck. That was never a good way to start a conversation.

“Something is wrong here, Sean, and I think we need to nip it in the bud.”

Was this about Robinson? Had Querns noticed something that Sean had missed? 

“The first thing we need to do is separate you and Harris.” 

Sean felt the shock race through him like ice water. “What? What does Harris have to do with any of this? Robinson…”

“No, this is not about you and Robinson.” He held his hand up to stop Sean’s arguments. “This is about the fact that you and Harris are joined at the hip.”

Jesus. Querns waited until he was addicted to the guy, then he wanted to separate them. “You think I’m spending too much of my time on Harris? You do remember that you’re the one who wanted me to concentrate on him in the first place?”

“I know, I know, it was my idea,” Querns admitted. “I think it worked. If we hadn’t had someone as focused as you spending all your time on him, things could have turned out much differently than they have. But he seems to have really mellowed out since his slash and hack days, and I’m willing to allow you to relax your vigilance, and _chill the fuck out_!”

“Warden…”

“No, no, there will be none of that. You did a fantastic job of keeping Harris in line, and I’m very pleased with your work. However, it’s time to set him free, and allow him to interact with the rest of the inmates without your constant attentions. Now, if he starts to slip, we can reconsider this step, but for now, let’s go with it. All right?”

“Sure. That’s great.” Sean enthused about the decision outwardly, although inside, he was just about crushed. “I’ll finally be able to get my paperwork in on time. Thank you, Warden.” Sean felt like he was crumbling into little bits. This would probably make it easier to stop moping around over the guy, but damn, it was going to be hard to not spend so much time with him. 

“About Robinson…”

“Yeah, I know, he’s a little on the disoriented side tonight. That’s okay, he’s got Halloran there to keep him on track, and besides, everyone is locked up all night, he’ll be fine.” 

Querns added his voice to those who thought that a sick C.O. was not a liability. He was probably worried about finding someone to take his place. Everyone was working as many hours as they could manage already, and the Warden was apparently more concerned about the overtime hours they were all piling up.

He tried one last time to bring a little sanity to the proceedings. “Sir…” 

“I just don’t have the officers to spare, Murphy. A third of our staff is down with the flu. He’s a warm body, he’s going to have to do. Got it?” The Warden was obviously getting tired of arguing the point.

“I got it.” Well, he’d planned to check in on Robinson later this evening, anyway. 

“Good. You’re not the only one working overtime tonight, Sean. I’m going to be here late, myself. If I hear anything else from either you or Robinson about this, I’ll dock you both a day’s pay.” 

Ouch. “Yes sir, I hear you.”

“Now get the hell out of here.” The Warden dismissed him, turning to the stack of papers on his desk.

Sean left. He didn’t have any problems with Robinson, as long as he kept his sticky fingers off of Harris. Sean would just have to nip anything he started in the bud, before it turned into something they couldn’t control.

The evening seemed to fly by, and it seemed that Robinson had decided to leave it be. They’d taken the men to dinner, and locked them up for the night, and Sean hadn’t heard a peep out of him. He started to relax, although he tried his best to keep alert. But a week’s worth of beer and late nights had wrung him right out, that’s why he’d planned to do nothing but relax all weekend. He never should have picked up the damn phone in the first place. He knew better, when he had time off. 

It had been quiet for a while. Anderson took the phone call, and Sean had to stop himself from banging his head on the desk. The Warden hadn’t wanted to hear from him again, but here he was, ordering Sean back to his office. Robinson had better not have tried anything stupid. He didn’t have the strength to fight any more stupidity tonight.

He reminded Anderson to keep his eyes open, and not to let anyone take any of the inmates, no matter what reason they gave. Anderson called him paranoid, but promised that no one would even get in the gate, so Sean headed back to the Warden’s office. Jesus, he felt like he was being called to the principal’s office.


	22. Chapter 22

Xander sat back against the Plexiglas wall, staring out at the space beyond his door, and picking at the hem of his boxers. Hey, it was something to do. Unfortunately, prison cells were not built to entertain their occupants. He could hear Alvarez’ light, steady breathing from the bunk above. It was comforting; in the world of Oz, this was home. 

It had only been a little over three months, but Alvarez had proved himself to be a true friend more than once. It was hard to make friends in a maximum security prison; he’d been warned by more than one person to never trust anyone, inmate or guard. But Xander didn’t function well on his own. He needed family. He needed people he could put his trust in, and he thought he’d found them. 

Actually, he had more than he’d ever dreamed of finding here. He had his small collection of odds and ends – Alvarez, Rebadow and Busmalis, and to a lesser extent, Beecher and even O’Reily. He could trust Alvarez, he knew that. Bob and Busmalis, they were good listeners, he got a lot of good information from them. And of course, Bob had his line to God hooked up. He wondered if Bob was a mind reader. He knew things that no one else should know – things Xander had never told _anyone_. If Bob was telepathic, that would explain it. Or maybe he really did talk to God. Xander’d seen stranger things in his life.

Bob was probably why O’Reily hung around them; information was his life source. It brought in the money, gave him status, and kept him and his lady safe. Everyone else was on their own. Well, if he could help someone he considered part of his group, without it hurting O’Reily, or Dr. Nathan, he’d probably do it. But in the long run, they were all expendable. Except maybe Beecher – he took care of Beecher. Xander didn’t understand that relationship, but they worked well together – almost like brothers. With his vague eyes, and private smile, it was hard to remember that he’d been a lawyer in the real world, but Beecher was sharper than he looked. 

Then there was the Cabal. That was Ray’s name for them. Xander had to look it up, but it fit them well – they were all held together by the secrets they kept. It was a strange assembly: a priest, two hacks, and a demon hunter with a reputation for being a serial killer. Andrea had her three kids, but her husband had equal custody, and that often left her at loose ends. She liked Xander’s stories, and she was fierce in a fight. He was glad to know her. 

Now Ray - Xander had never met a priest like Ray. Not that he knew many Priests, but the ones they went to for blessing gallons of water, and occasionally bladed weapons, were all stuffy, wet shirts. Ray was nothing like that. He knew his stuff, religion wise, but he swore, and smoked like a chimney. He was a rebel. He was also fascinated by demons, and the literature that usually came with them. Giles would love him.

And then there was Murphy. Xander wasn’t sure what he was going to do about Murphy. He was falling fast for the guy, and in this environment, that was a surefire recipe for disaster. But he was funny, and honest, and he held his beliefs firm. He was a good man, and he’d make a great demon hunter. 

Xander could see the two of them traveling the country together, fighting demons, finding new Slayers as they came into their powers, delivering ancient medallions, and first edition, one of a kind books to Watchers the world over. He’d have someone to watch his back. He wouldn’t have gotten into half the scrapes he had over the years, with a partner to watch his back. He probably wouldn’t be in this situation if he had Murphy on his side. But then, Xander’d never have met him, if it weren’t for the Davraad, so that thought kind of doubled back on itself, there. 

He had no idea what to do about his feelings for Murphy. Ray said to take things slow, and tell Murphy when Xander thought he was ready. But if he had no interest and turned away from Xander, well, his life could quickly turn to crap. What was he saying? As long as he was trapped in prison, his life already was crap. But despite the growing fear in his gut that Buffy, Willow, Giles, and even Dawn might be dead, he couldn’t imagine himself stuck here forever. He just knew that his life wasn’t over. There was more to come for him, there had to be. He just didn’t know if he’d be facing it on his own. 

The lights over near the Gate flickered briefly, and Xander got up to see what was happening. He’d been waiting to see if Murphy was going to take his turn doing rounds, or spend the night catching up on paperwork at the guard station. But now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen either C.O. in a while. He knew they were short-handed due to this flu bug, but he couldn’t imagine them not keeping some sort of tabs on the inmates. There was no one at the guard’s station, and as far as he could see, there was no guard making rounds. Of course Xander might not see him, if he was walking under their tier right now.

He waited a few minutes, but there was nothing. Nothing at all. He was hit by a jaw-splitting yawn that reminded him that he should be asleep right now, so he went back to the bunk, and lay down. As he was dozing off, the buzzer that announced their door unlocking woke him, and he rolled out of bed. He almost got crowned by Alvarez, who swung his legs off the bed, and jumped down at the same time.

“What the fuck is going on?” Alvarez asked. “It’s still dark out.”

“Yeah, I know, there haven’t been any guards around for a while now, not even at the station. This is fucking creepy.”

Alvarez slipped on his pants, and Xander followed his lead. Better to cover up the important bits before checking out weird shit. As they approached the door, they saw him. It was the hack from Unit B that had been staring at him earlier, walking up the steps to their tier, a big-ass grin on his face. 

“It’s that hack.”

“Rebadow said Robinson,” Alvarez said.

“Right. Robinson. What the hell does he want?”

“I don’t know man, but I don’t think I like it.”

Robinson kept walking until he stood right outside the door to their pod. Then he pressed his creepy, grinning face up against the glass, and shouted: “Xander Harris, come on down!!!” 

“What is he supposed to be,” Xander muttered, “some twisted Bob Barker or something?” 

“I don’t know, man, but it’s you he wants.” 

As Robinson pulled the pod door open, Alvarez grabbed Xander’s shirt off the chair at the desk. He handed it to Xander, with both hands, and Xander could feel the weight of something odd inside it. He turned around to the back of the pod to put his shirt on, and slid the shank Alvarez had slipped him into his pocket. Leave it to Alvarez to think about a knife while under pressure. 

He pulled his shirt on, and reached for his shoes, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He had a shank of his own, but it was hidden over by the sink, and he wasn’t so sure he could slip it out without looking suspicious. He hadn’t ever planned for this kind of emergency. If he lived through this, he should probably re-think the placement of his protection. 

Robinson sighed heavily. “C’mon, already!”

Xander stood up. “Yeah, all right. I’m coming.”

As he passed Alvarez, Xander heard him whisper, “Good luck, man.”

“Where are we going at this time of night?” Xander was hoping the hack would reveal where they were headed, so Alvarez could tell Murphy when he showed up. _If_ he showed up. He had no idea where their usual hacks were.

“I’m glad you asked,” Robinson said. “You won’t believe me, but a little birdy told me you like chocolate! So I thought we’d have a midnight snack. That sound good to you?”

“A midnight snack?”

Robinson grabbed Xander's arm and pulled him the rest of the way out of the door, then he pointed to Alvarez, who was standing close by. “Get up on your bunk, and stay there, or you won’t appreciate the consequences. Comprehendo, me amigo?”

Rolling his eyes over the hack’s fake Spanish, Xander was unprepared for Robinson to slam him up against the outside of the door. Xander tried to resist, but from his position, it was impossible to fight. His feet were too far from the glass, and he had no center of balance. The only thing keeping him from falling was the door. Robinson managed to get Xander’s arms behind his back and cuffed in no time. The shank was in his front pocket, so for now, he was completely helpless. His only hope was for Robinson to uncuff him at some point.

Robinson grabbed his upper arm, and practically dragged him down the stairs, to the guard’s station. The hack flicked a switch on the desk. Xander heard the pop of a lock engaging, and knew that Alvarez was once again locked in. He glanced over at their pod. Alvarez was on his bunk, kneeling at the end, watching everything that happened. Then Robinson dragged him down the stairs, and over toward the gate. 

Xander wondered if maybe the Davraad had killed this man’s family, and he wanted revenge for their deaths. That would explain the glee he could practically _feel_ pouring off this man. He was really, really happy to have Xander at his mercy. As they turned down the corridor to the gate, Xander saw a man in a uniform lying on the floor, his hands cuffed behind him. There was blood on the floor next to his head, and for a second he panicked, before he realized that it was Anderson, not Murphy. He was probably still alive in any event, or there wouldn’t be a need for the cuffs, but he was still relieved it wasn’t Murphy. 

Robinson dragged Xander to the guard room, where a guard lay crumpled in the corner. He had blond hair. Xander felt bad that he didn’t feel bad, but it wasn’t Murphy, and that was what was important. The hack smacked his hand on a prominently marked button. The gate button did its work, and the two sides slowly retreated into the walls as Robinson and Xander left the guard station. 

Robinson left the gate open, as he dragged Xander through the halls. Xander tried talking, to see if he could get any clues out of the guy as to what was going on, and what he planned to do, but the hack barked out a loud, “I don’t want to hear a word out of you.” 

Right. Looked like his best bet was to go with the silent treatment for the time being. They ended up in the kitchen, back in the prep area, with large stainless steel tables, big steel sinks, and cases of cans locked up in chain-link cages. It was weird being behind the food line. He usually tried not to think about this area to much, or he would probably never eat again, so being confronted by it all was a little disturbing.

Robinson shoved Xander face first against one of the chain-link walls that made up the food storage cages. He uncuffed Xander’s left arm, and reattached the cuff to the chain-link. Xander immediately turned around so that he was facing Robinson, but the hack stood back far enough that Xander couldn’t touch him. He’d slipped that shank into his right pocket. It was going to take some maneuvering to get it out with his left hand, so he didn’t want to give that away just yet. 

“Now for some knives.”

Xander felt his heart practically thump out of his chest. If Robinson was planning on doing to Xander what the Davraad had done to his family, Xander was in for some terrible hurt before his gruesome death. The only thing he could think of was to talk. He doubted it would help, but he had to try.

“Look, I can see why you’d be upset at me, but I can tell you honestly and truthfully, that I did not kill the people I was convicted of killing. Whoever you’re here to revenge, I’m not to blame for their death. I was trying to stop him, and I got framed for his crimes…”

Xander’s babble was cut off by a backhand that made his ears ring, and his jaw ache. He had feeling that Robinson had come close to dislocating his jaw. That bastard could hit _hard._

Robinson’s grin was even bigger than before. “I can’t believe you don’t recognize me, buddy! After all I’ve done for you!”

Xander stepped back, as close to the wall as he could get, the cold from the chain-links seemed to seep into his skin, and chill his whole body at once. Or maybe it was the sheer fright.

“Of course you were framed! I worked damn hard on that. But I’m back, ‘cause my masters are tired of you. I’m allowed to kill you, this time.”

“Oh, Jesus!”

The Davraad’s eyes did that gleaming thing, and its smile got even bigger. “Now,” it said, rubbing its hands together, “where did I put those knives?”


	23. Chapter 23

There was something wrong, Sean knew it. Robinson had spent an hour with Querns threatening to bring the National Correctional Employees Union down on Querns and Oswald Prison. It took Querns and Sean forty five minutes to sort through the crap he had thrown at the Warden, and figure out that he was lying out his ass; none of his charges would stand with the Union. Querns stood behind him, which was good to know, but it meant that Anderson had been alone in Em City for an hour. Sean was pretty sure it was a set up.

When he got to Em City, the gate was open, and Anderson was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. It was a head wound, and it had bled freely, but it turned out not to be as bad as it looked. Strahl was out cold, but Sean left him for Anderson to take care of. He warned Anderson not to use his radio and to get the gate closed, then he headed into Em City. The inmates all seemed to be in their pods, but they were making a holy racket.

His first worry, though, was for Harris. As he went up the stairs to the guard's station, he noticed Alvarez waving at him. He took the chance, and unlocked his pod, and Alvarez ran out, shouting that Robinson had Harris, and was acting creepy, whatever that meant. By that time, Anderson had followed Sean in, and Sean instructed him to lock Alvarez in, drop Strahl at the infirmary, and come after Sean in the kitchens, because according to Alvarez, Robinson said he was taking Harris for a midnight snack.

He worked his way around the edges of the cafeteria, hoping that Robinson wouldn’t see him. By the time he got to the hot tables, he could hear talking, so that was a good sign. As long as Harris could talk, he wasn’t dead. He kept going, hoping he could get there in time. Alvarez said he was cuffed. He sent up a small prayer for whichever saint interceded for the wrongly accused, because Sean knew he was going to need help on this one.


	24. Chapter 24

“So self-righteous, aren’t you? So sure that my way of living was wrong that you’d spend your entire measly, little existence trying to stop me. The look on your face when the jury read the verdict was _perfect._ You knew you were lost, didn’t you? I’d planned to come back a few years down the line, and see what kind of sinner you’d transformed into. Because I knew you would, no one can remain innocent when they live in hell. You would have tasted so sweet. 

“Prison is so full of suffering – I wonder why I never thought of setting up shop here before? This is the kind of hell that I was made for. I can feel all the anger and pain soaking into me, and I don’t even need to feed, it just soaks in through my skin. Can you imagine what it’s going to feel like when I pick a sinner, and so totally destroy his soul that all he can think of is taking his own life? But I won’t let him. That’s what solitary is for. I’ll keep him there for years, lost and in pain, and oh, so very tasty.

“I’m so disappointed that I can’t leave you here to rot, but my masters have spoken. They don’t want you around anymore, so you need to be destroyed.”

Xander had learned the last time they’d tangled that this demon had a tendency to brag. And the longer he kept the bastard talking, the more time there was for a rescue, so Xander did his best to keep the Davraad occupied. 

“I thought this was all your idea. You mean your bosses _ordered_ you to frame me? You are so pitiful.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. They told me I couldn’t kill you, that’s all. I got to choose how you went down, they just needed you buried deep enough that your little buddies couldn’t find you unless my masters wanted them too. 

"I have to say, forcing the media to call you ‘Xander’? Brilliant move. It was like sticking a neon sign over your trial, blinking ‘I’m over here, help meeee…’ to all your little buddies. They couldn’t help but see it. If they ever came out of hiding, that is. Didn’t happen that way though, did it? Poor baby. You were supposed to suffer forever, stuck in this hell hole of a prison, and your friends would never know.” 

“So suddenly they’re changing the rules? Sucks being an underling, doesn’t it?”

“Better than being stuck here in Oz. But then, pretty much anything is.”

“Wait. They didn’t want my friends to find me? So they’re still alive?” Xander didn’t realize how hard it had been thinking that they might have been dead, until finally, he could feel the possibility of hope.

“Yeah, I guess they are. But not for long. The big boys will have their way. They always do, don’t they? I’m not happy that I have to end your suffering earlier than planned, but I can handle the disappointment. Once you’re dead, I’ll go after Murphy. He’s already breaking the rules. Once you’re gone, he’s going to fall into a depression that he’ll never see the end of. I’ll have him on the other side of these bars, and then he’ll never see the light of day again.”

Xander’s whole body froze as soon as the bastard mentioned Murphy’s name. Oh, no. That was not going to happen. He didn’t care what happened to himself, but his Sean was not going to suffer because of this asshole. Xander’s Sean. He liked the sound of that. This bastard wasn’t going to stop that from happening.

Xander kicked out viciously, hitting the Davraad’s knee, and making it buckle. He knew it was only a small victory, but damn, it felt good. He was going to make this Davraad regret picking on Xander Harris. The Davraad rolled as it fell, and quickly came back up again. It stepped up close, with its huge knife poised at Xander’s neck, but it stepped back, quickly. 

“Oh, no. You’re not going to get out of this that easily. You’re going to suffer, bitch.” 

It plowed a fist into Xander’s stomach, and he doubled over. If not for the hand cuffed to the chain link, Xander would have been down on his knees, but at least it was easier to get back to his feet this way. His wrist hurt like hell, though. He kicked out again, but the Davraad had learned its lesson, and it was too far away to strike anything but the hand with the blade in it. The knife sliced into his calf, and that hurt like fucking hell, but at the same time, it knocked the blade loose from its hand, and the Davraad had to bend over to get it. 

Given the opportunity of a lifetime, Xander shoved it in the ass as hard as he could with his good foot. And while the Davraad was recovering, he dug out Alvarez’ shank. It wasn’t long, maybe three inches all together, but it was sharp. He hid it in his left hand until the demon could get close enough to use it to full effect.

The Davraad rolled back to its feet, and shouted indignantly. “Hey, now! This is my show, and you need to stop trying to spoil it, right now!” 

A wave of relief flooded Xander when he saw Sean sneaking up behind the Davraad, with the lid of a huge pot. It looked like a giant stainless steel Frisbee. He wondered what the hell he planned to do with that, but whatever it was, Xander was going to need to distract the demon long enough for him to try it.

“Oh, did I hurt the little monster’s feelings?” This part was fun. He just had to remember not to look in Sean’s direction, and give him away. “Poor baby!” 

The Davraad laughed at him. He stepped closer, and grabbed Xander’s hair, pulling his head back. “Go ahead. Try to egg me on to kill you quickly. Sorry, but it ain’t gonna happen. You’re gonna die slow.” 

Xander used his opportunity to use the shank to slice at the Davraad’s throat, but it let go of his hair and caught his wrist, squeezing until his hand went numb. The shank fell to the floor as Xander cried out in pain. 

“Well, lookie there. Sneaky! I’m so proud of you.” It kicked the shank away, and pulled out another pair of handcuffs, cuffing his left hand to the chain link as well. 

Xander could have put up a fight, but he needed to keep the Davraad’s attention focused on his hand, so he struggled just enough to keep its attention on Xander. Sean came up behind it, swinging that huge pot lid sideways, and slammed it into the Davraad’s side. Xander heard a crack. He was pretty sure that was the sound of more than one rib breaking, but somehow, the Davraad was able to stay standing, stumbling a few steps before regaining its equilibrium. The hand with the knife started wavering like it was having trouble holding it up. It turned to face Sean, its face a mask of pure anger.

“That fucking hurt!”

Sean dropped his pot lid, and tackled the Davraad. The two went tumbling to the ground, rolling over and over, as they struggled for control. Xander was afraid that Sean wouldn’t have the strength to fight something as strong as this demon, but it seemed that whatever Sean had done, the Davraad wasn’t recovering as well as it had before. Sean was able to roll the demon to the spot that Alvarez’ shank had fallen. He sacrificed his hold on the Davraad’s arm, letting go long enough to try and grab the shank. 

With his arm free, the demon shoved his knife into Sean’s side. Xander screamed, as Sean jerked sideways, pulling the knife out of his side and the demon’s grasp. It clattered to the floor. The Davraad managed to push Sean to the side, and struggled up to its feet. Sean was bleeding badly. He used the closest table to force himself into a standing position, but he had to lean against it to keep himself up.

The Davraad awkwardly grabbed the knife off the floor, and slowly advanced on Sean. “You should have known better to come between me and my favorite dupe, asshole. Now you’re gonna die.” The knife sliced through the air, but at the last second the Davraad jumped back to avoid something Sean threw at it that looked like an open medicine bottle. It knocked the bottle to the side, but shouted loudly as its left hand started smoking, like a vampire who’d gotten too close to the sun. 

“Ow! I’ve had about enough of you, buster! Who the hell told you about holy water, huh?” 

Holy water! He wondered briefly how the hell Sean got holy water. 

Now that the bottle was gone, it took a step closer again. “It sure as hell wasn’t old _Xander_ here. If he’d known about that, he’d have used it when he came between me and that couple in Worthington. Remember them, buddy? What a mess that was. You almost caught me that time. 

“Well, never again. And once I get rid of Murphy, here, I’ll have my revenge – slowly and painfully. Well, at least for you.”

It raised the knife, crossing his arm over his chest, as if to slice into Sean from a backhanded gesture. Xander shouted, loudly, but the Davraad ignored him, the knife slicing through the air. 

A shot rang out, echoing in the large room. 

The Davraad stumbled backwards, its shoulder bleeding. It turned and ran, disappearing between rows of chain link cages full of food, but Xander couldn’t care enough to worry over where it went, as long as it went away. Anderson ran up to help Sean, who was slowly sliding to his knees. He tucked the gun into his pocket, and lifted enough to get Sean on one of the stainless steel tables. He called on his radio for SORT backup, and medical assistance in the kitchen, and started hunting around the storage cages for ‘Robinson.’

Xander knew he shouldn’t but he had to try. “Sean?”

His head came up, and he focused on Xander. “I’m okay, baby. Don’t worry about me.” His head dropped back down to the table top, and his hand slowly dropped away from his wound, which was still bleeding. 

Xander wanted to call him again, but that was when the C.O.s showed up, and Xander knew he couldn’t say anything now. He tugged at the handcuffs holding him to the chain link, and prayed that Sean was okay. As the medtechs worked on getting Sean on a stretcher, Xander realized that Sean had called him baby. Baby? Where the hell had _that_ come from?


	25. Chapter 25

Sean awoke to the murmur of a prayer. He kept his eyes closed, and drifted in and out as he listened, Ray’s voice rising and fading. It was comfortable and easy. Then images began to float past him, distorted like funhouse mirrors, vague and distressing, and finally he realized that there was something that he needed to do. Xander’s face swung into view, worry and pain evident as he tugged on the cuffs holding him to the chain link wall. His peace shattered, Sean opened his eyes abruptly, gasping for breath. 

Ray put his hand out, touching Sean’s hand. “It’s all right, Sean. You’re all right.” 

He sunk back into the bed. Xander must be okay, or Ray would be with him, and not Sean, but just in case, he had to ask. “Xander?”

Ray grinned broadly, while someone else groaned in the background. “That’s ten bucks, Andrea. Fork it over.” He held out his hand, and wiggled his fingers until Phelan walked into view and slapped a ten into Ray’s palm. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Dammit, Murphy, you’re supposed to be more professional than that. I was counting on you.”

At Sean’s puzzled look, Ray filled him in. “Andrea and I had a bet. I told her your first word would be Xander, but she was convinced that you would be professional enough to know better.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d at least wait until you knew the room was safe,” Phelan grouched.

Sean noticed they hadn’t mentioned how Xander was doing, yet. “Fuck you both. Is someone going to tell me how Xander is, or do I have to get out of bed and find him myself.”

“Calm down, Sean. He’s fine. You’re the one that needed fifty some-odd stitches.”

Fifty-something stitches? That knife wound had gone far deeper than Sean had thought. He looked around at the small hospital room. “Where am I?” 

“One of the private rooms in the back of the infirmary. There are too many inmates in the other wards; Gloria insisted you be kept back here.”

Knowing where he was made him feel better. The disorientation started to fade.

“To Harris’ disgust. He’s been stomping at the bit to get back here and check you out for himself, but he couldn’t get past the guards.” Phelan grinned. Xander must have made a fuss.

Ray rolled his eyes. “I thought we weren’t going to mention that,” he reminded her.

“Excuse me?” Andrea was the picture of offended innocence. “I meant he wanted to check out Murphy’s wounds, and make sure he was okay. You’re the one with the dirty mind.”

Ray nodded. “Of course I am.”

Phelan slapped Ray on the arm as she stood. “Well, my break’s about over, Murphy. Some of us have to go back to work instead of lying around in bed all day.” 

“But it’s Saturday, isn’t it? Don’t you have the kids this week?”

“I sent them back to their dad’s house early, ‘cause some crazy idiot bled all over the kitchen, and now Em City is even more shorthanded. I said I’d cover your ass, if they gave me day slots, so Querns worked it out, and got me some day shifts.”

Sean was glad to hear that Phelan was on duty in Em City. She was good, she’d keep them all in shape. He hated that she’d given up time with her kids, though. “I’m sorry, Andrea. I know you hate it when you can’t spend time with your kids.”

“Nah, you did me a favor. All three have that damned stomach flu, so I’m happy to let their dad and ‘she who will not be named’ clean up the diarrhea.”

Sean laughed at the idea of Andrea’s husband and his new wife, Andrea’s ex-best friend, cleaning up runny kiddie poop. The laughter hurt more than he expected, so he decided not to try that again. “Glad I could help.” 

She winked at him, and disappeared out the door. 

He tried to remember what happened yesterday, but it was all a blur after he slammed that huge pan lid into the demon’s side. “What happened, Ray? Did they get the demon?”

Ray shook his head. “They found Robinson in the hall outside the back entrance to the storage area. Xander said the holy water had worked, so they rooted through your pockets and found another vial, but he didn’t react at all when they sprinkled it on his arm, or his face. They’re pretty sure the demon is still in Oz somewhere.”

He was surprised that after all that trouble, the demon left without the one he’d made such an effort to obtain. “He left without Xander? What happened?”

“After you threw holy water on him, Anderson shot him in the shoulder.”

Sean whistled. Where the hell did Anderson get a gun? “I don’t remember any of that.” He thought of the way Robinson had acted before his shift started. “He must be a mess. I’m pretty sure I broke at least a couple of ribs, and Xander kicked the hell out of one knee. If Anderson shot him, he’s going to be out of it for a while.”

“At least he’s recovered enough to talk. He said he can remember everything that happened, but he just wasn’t in the driver’s seat. He was about to slice your throat, Sean. If Anderson hadn’t stopped by his locker for the gun he’d smuggled in when all the weird shit started happening, at least one of you would probably be dead right now.”

“Jesus.”

Ray smiled. “Yes, I’ve been thanking Him regularly for the last ten hours or so.”

Ten hours? “You’ve been here all night?”

“Andrea called me as soon as Querns got through to her around four this morning.”

“We’ve got to kill this thing, Ray,” Sean said angrily. “It’s targeting Xander, and I won’t let that happen. I don’t want to lose him. I just found him.”

Ray squeezed Sean’s hand. “I know. I know.”

The door opened, and Alvarez slipped inside. 

“Padre. Are we clear?”

Ray nodded. “Bring him in.”

Sean couldn’t help the big grin that felt like it covered his whole face. Xander had a few bruises and cuts, but other than his wrists, he looked remarkably good. 

Ray stood. “Well, I need to make some phone calls. I’ll check back by before I go home, Sean.”

Xander grinned at the mention of phone calls. “Thanks, Ray.” 

He got the idea that Xander was thanking Ray for more than just leaving them alone. “What’s that about?”

Xander leaned against the wall, with a clear view of the door. Sean recognized his behavior – he needed to keep his eyes on the only entrance or exit into the room. 

“Ray has acquaintances at the Vatican. Guys who owe him favors. He thinks they may have access to the books we need to figure out how to kill the Davraad. Giles always told me that the Catholic Church had all the good research hidden away. Stuff that they themselves had banned hundreds of years ago.”

“So we may be able to do something more than just throw holy water at him, huh?”

“Yeah. Not that the holy water wasn’t effective. How did you know to use that?”

Sean shrugged. “Ray told us he’d be glad to bless water for us, and I had a couple of empty bottles at home, so I brought them in. I’ve been carrying them around ever since.”

Xander grinned broadly. “Just in case?” 

“Just in case. It was just a lucky break.”

Xander’s smile turned more fond, and it warmed Sean from the inside. “You tend to get a lot of those.”

His grandmother had always believed the Murphys had been touched by the Saints. “Luck of the Irish?”

“I guess so.”

Sean held out his hand. “Come here.”

Xander sat next to Sean on the bed. “What?”

“I want to look at your wrists.” He took Xander’s hands in his, and examined them both. They were badly bruised and swollen, the skin rubbed right off in spots. “You fought pretty hard.”

“He was trying to kill you.” Xander spoke angrily, obviously still disturbed by the events of the night.

“Yeah, I guess he was.” Sean took one hand, and held it between his own.

Xander ran his palm across Sean’s cheek. “You saved my life.”

“Oh, it was nothing…” he said, nonchalantly. 

“Oh, well, if you say so.” 

Xander pulled his hand back, playfully, but Sean took it in his own. “You could still thank me, if you wanted to.”

He pretended to think that over. “And how would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I bet you could think of something.” 

If he hadn’t been in a fair amount of pain, he’d have grabbed Xander by the collar and pulled him in. Finally, Xander leaned close, and closed the distance between them. 

The first kiss was soft, and sweet, and fairly chaste, but not nearly enough. Sean held on to Xander’s shirt, not letting him pull away, and brought him back for another. Ray fumbled with the remote for the hospital bed, and got his head moving up, so he could get more involved in the kiss. Xander thought that was funny, but Sean didn’t give him a chance to do more than smile, before they were back into it again. 

He wished that he could do more. There was no telling if they’d ever get a chance to have a room with a bed in it to themselves again. But he really wasn’t up to much more than kisses. Eventually, he felt himself flagging, and Xander pulled back. 

“That a good enough thank you?”

“It’s a start,” Sean told him. “You’d just better not thank Anderson like that.”

“Hey, he saved your life. I owe him!”

“I’ll take you over my lap…” 

Xander raised one eyebrow, a reminder that Sean’s strength was not up to par today.

“…when I’m feeling much, much better.”

Leaning back in for another kiss, Xander murmured, “You never know, I might like that…”

Sean laughed into their kiss. He heard the door open, and they parted as Sean heard an exasperated sigh.

“So _that’s_ what Miguel was trying to hide.”

“Hey, if it’s good enough for you and O’Reily…” Sean heard his words slurring as Xander stood up. 

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving. He’s practically asleep, anyway.”

Sean held onto Xander’s hand. “Stay.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, pulling Xander’s hand out of his. “I was about to send him back to Em City, but I’ll let him stick around a little bit longer if you’ll let me check you out first.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I know.” She glanced over at Xander, who was hovering over her, obviously worried. “Have a seat, Xander, I won’t take long. I just need to check his wound, and see how he’s healing.”

“Thanks, Dr. Nathan.”

She grinned mischievously. “Don’t thank me, yet. I sent Alvarez after a food tray. You get to feed him.”

Xander rubbed his hands together, a wicked grin on his face. “Oh, boy!”


	26. Chapter 26

“Well, we haven’t seen it in close to a week,” Andrea said. “Maybe it moved on.”

“I don’t think so.” Sean shifted, and Xander moved the pillows on Ray’s couch around, trying to get him sitting comfortably again. “It said its masters ordered it to kill Xander. I don’t think it will leave until it’s completed its mission.” 

As soon as Sean was settled, he grabbed Xander’s hand. He hid his smile. Unless they were in public, Sean managed to be touching Xander at all times. He was still weak, he wasn’t even on duty until next week, but he’d been staying at the prison anyway, sleeping in that room in the infirmary, or in Ray’s office, except for the one time Ray and Gloria had managed to kick him out long enough for him to get a good night’s sleep. 

“According to the texts at the Vatican, Davraads are very tenacious demons. I doubt it would leave until it completed its task.”

“Yeah, I think Ray’s right,” Xander said. “It’s here somewhere. It’s just taking its time, waiting until we drop our guard.”

“How long do you think it can wait?” Gloria was a new edition to the Cabal, even though she couldn’t always meet with them. Her free hours were kind of scattered. He hadn’t realized how much time she spent in the infirmary, until Sean had ended up there. 

O’Reily hadn’t liked her coming to Ray’s office, since when she was out of the infirmary, he didn’t have anyone to watch her. According to Alvarez, they’d had a huge fight over it, but obviously she’d won, because here she was. He seemed resigned to it, now, though. It helped that there were two officers in the group, plus, he’d threatened Xander that he’d die slowly if she so much as got a scratch on her. She’d asked if she could tell him what was going on, but Sean, and surprisingly enough, Ray had voted against that. Neither of them really trusted him, and she hadn’t pushed it, even though she did remind them how good he was at planning.

“That’s a good question, Gloria.” Ray scratched something on the pad of paper sitting in front of him at his desk. 

Xander had no idea what he was doing – maybe he was taking notes. He smiled at that idea; he must be the official Cabal secretary. 

“It told Xander that its ‘masters’ insisted that it kill Xander.” Ray didn’t actually make quote marks in the air around the word masters, but Xander could practically hear them. “It planned to stick around and milk the prisoners for the stronger, harsher emotions that it fed on, but it had planned to kill Xander that night, so they must have been pushing it, or it would have left Xander to suffer while it played with the other prisoners.” 

“I’m pretty sure it wanted me out of the way before my friends could find me…”

“Too late for that.” Everyone jumped at Buffy’s words, and Ray snapped his pencil in two. 

“Blessed Mother of God!” 

Andrea had pulled out her billy club, so Xander jumped up before there was a fight. He was sure Buffy would win, but Andrea knew some dirty tricks, so it was better to stop them before they started. Willow and Buffy just stood there in the corner behind Ray’s desk, grinning widely. 

He rushed up, and grabbed them both at the same time. “Oh, my god. It’s so good to see you guys!” He felt like he might start sniffling, so he pulled back and turned around. Everyone was out of their chairs, like they were either going to rush them, or run away. He wouldn’t blame them either way. The first time Willow had transported herself into his hotel room in Africa, he’d practically jumped though the roof.

“Everyone, this is Buffy, and Willow!” He pointed them out, the blond and the redhead, so people knew who was who.

“How the hell did you get in here?” They both looked surprised that a priest would curse, but Xander was used to Ray by this point.

“That’s a damn good question.” Andrea hadn’t put her billy club away, so he rushed the introductions. 

“These are my two best friends.” He pointed out people as he named them. “And this is Ray, Andrea, Gloria, and Sean.” Finally, Andrea put the billy club up. He noticed that Sean’s face had gone blank. So he started talking.

“To answer your question, Ray, Willow is a witch. I know it’s a bit of a shock. You should have seen me, the first time she transported into my hotel room.”

Xander realized that they might be a little doubtful of what the two could accomplish. Buffy and Willow were both under four foot six, with slight frames. Well, a witch could have a slight build and still be considered powerful, but he knew people always underestimated Buffy. They expected a short, blond woman to be …short and blond. But she was a powerhouse, and a good leader, and that was what people didn’t understand. 

He knew they would need a time of adjustment, so he pulled Willow and Buffy around, and sat them on the couch, pushing Sean back down on it as well. Then he sat on the arm, and took Sean’s hand, holding it tight. Both Willow and Buffy noticed immediately, but held their peace. He was sure there would be a Q&A on the subject of Xander’s bisexuality at some point. He never had told them about Oxnard.

While everyone else was sitting down, he realized that couldn’t hold back any longer. “Where have you guys been? I’m in prison!”

Willow looked around the room. “You don’t look like you’re in prison.”

“My thought exactly,” Buffy added. “Where are your stripes?”

“Stripes?” Gloria didn’t bother hiding her smile.

Ray shared her smile. “They don’t actually wear stripes in prisons anymore, do they?” 

They all looked at each other, and Sean finally answered. “Not that I’m aware of. But Xander is in an experimental unit that doesn’t wear uniforms at all. He’s allowed to wear street clothes. I’m the head C.O. for his unit.”

“Corrections Officer,” Xander supplied helpfully, when Buffy looked like she was about to ask.

“You guard Xander?” Willow looked down to their joined hands.

Sean grinned. Damn. Xander loved that lopsided grin of his. “Well, C.O.s don’t usually get involved with the inmates, but Xander – well, he’s a special case.” He looked up at Xander, who bent over and kissed him. 

Everyone else groaned. “You promised you wouldn’t do that anymore,” Andrea complained. 

They kept the kiss brief. Sean shrugged. “Sorry, guys.” 

“Willow?” Buffy looked at Willow, who concentrated for a second. 

“I don’t think so.” Willow frowned at Sean. “You’re not a demon, are you?”

“Hey!” Xander took offense to the question. “I am perfectly capable of dating people who are not demons.”

“Right. You just don’t usually bother to find out one way or another?” Buffy folded her arms in her classic ‘try and convince me otherwise’ pose.

“Whatever.” It wasn’t worth fighting about. “I’m pretty sure this one is human.” He changed the subject, knowing that Sean would want more at some point, but hoping to get past it for now. “So where have you guys been?”

“Oh, it was awful, Xander!” Willow’s eyes got big, and voice trembled as she spoke. “I was trapped in a cavern down under the Andes Mountains. We were held there by a field of interference, like static on a radio, only for supernatural powers. The…” she paused, and glanced around before continuing, “…girls who were trapped with me were unable to ummm…help, and I couldn’t do so much as lift a pencil. There were half a dozen different types of demons surrounding us there, all working together, which never happens, so we think that there had to be someone directing them.”

The members of the Cabal had all exchanged glances when she talked about the ‘girls who couldn’t help’, and Xander cut in, so they wouldn’t need to keep coming up with ways to avoid saying the word Slayers. 

“I had to tell these guys about Slayers.” Willow looked surprised, but Buffy shrugged. 

“Well, it’s not like we’re going to stay a secret much longer, anyway. This is the real deal, Xander – we’re talking world-wide apocalypse. I’m not sure how much news you get from in prison, but demons and other supernatural creatures are popping up all over the world. They’re not even trying to hide anymore. If we’re going to fight them, we can’t hide, either.”

“We don’t have a choice.” Willow turned to include the whole group. “You’ve all heard about the disasters recently, right? The collapse of Big Ben in London, that big chunk of Portugal that fell into the ocean, the strange power surges in India and Thailand…”

“That’s all due to demons?” Andrea was shocked. “I thought that demons were more the kind to attack individual people…”

“Right, like vampires, and werewolves…” Gloria took up the thread of the conversation, “…warlocks and ghosts.”

“Oh yeah, we’ve got tons of all of those, but they’re just the most easily recognizable ones.” Buffy waved away the ‘normal’ demons like they were below her. “Rock eating Fornit demons caused the collapse of Big Ben. And the eruption of those supposedly extinct volcanoes in South America were due to Fire Moles from the Lame Pizza dimension.”

“Lame Pizza?” Murphy wasn’t the only one that laughed out loud over that one.

Willow sighed dramatically. “That would be the Lemep’pizoa dimension. The moles got here through a Hellmouth on Tierra del Fuego. Everywhere, the world is falling apart. Mental illness has become a national epidemic in Norway, Sweden, and Finland, because they’re overrun with Thesulac demons.”

Buffy added her two cents. “We call them Paranoia demons, it’s easier to remember.”

“There are Grimslaw demons nesting in Mongolia. They’re these giant demonic spiders that eat human hearts.” Willow shuddered. “Those really creep me out.”

“Any chance we can blame global warming on demons?” Andrea asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Willow said regretfully. “I think we did that one on our own.” 

“Too bad.” 

“But I’ve got my suspicions about those politicians in Texas.” 

That one had the entire room chuckling. “That’s my Willow,” Xander joked.

“What about the occasional disappearance of Tasmania?”

Willow’s eyes lit up at Ray’s question. “Oh, that’s the result of a dimensional rift that fades in and out of sync with our dimension. It only happens when…”

“Willow. Remember, we said no long explanations. This is just a pop in, grab Xander, and pop out again mission.”

“Whoa, guys, that’s not happening.” Xander had been afraid of this.

“Xander, if you can get out of here, you need to go.” Now Sean spoke. He’d been remarkably quiet the whole time they’d been here. 

“I’m not leaving with that Davraad demon loose.” He spoke very firmly, but then, pretty much everyone in this room was as hard headed as he was. He knew this wasn’t going to be an easy fight.

“The Davraad that you were hunting before you were arrested? It’s here?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one, Wills. He framed me for his murders, and left me here to rot, but obviously his ‘masters’ decided they wanted me dead instead of in prison. He showed up last week.” Xander smiled at Ray as he used the air quotes.

Willow and Buffy exchanged glances. “That makes sense.” Buffy was gearing up into Slayer mode. He could tell by the way her eyes hardened. “Willow finally got out of Chile about a week ago. She found me and my team in Siberia, where we’d been trapped incommunicado by a super nest of ice rats.”

Ray laughed. “Ice rats. That’s a good one.”

“Oh, wasn’t good at all. Trust me.”

“No.” Ray’s mouth hung open. “You can’t be serious.”

“I totally am.” Buffy was looking too grim to be joking.

“What happened to Giles?” 

“We finally located Giles and what’s left of his students down in the London Underground.” Buffy took up the tale again. “There are miles and miles of old subway tracks down there, and they were being hounded by these really vicious werewolves.”

“Short snouts? Intelligent, even when they’re furry?” Xander knew that’s what Buffy was talking about. They both nodded. “Yeah, we met up with one of those. He was a real menace. We figure that’s the kind of werewolf that’s in L.A. right now.”

“You’re right.” Willow looked over at Buffy, her mouth in a hard line. “They’re guarding a Hellmouth.”

“What?” Xander’s stomach clenched. “What are they doing with it?”

“We don’t know, yet, but that’s where we’re headed.” 

Buffy had her slay on, and Xander felt proud that his friends were so totally kick-ass. If anyone could figure out what was going on, and more importantly, stop it, Buffy, Giles, and Willow could.

“It’s got something to do with Angel’s crew.”

“Angel? Is he still around? I was positive something would have dusted him by now.” Xander grouched. He couldn’t help it.

“Don’t be bitter.” Willow played peace maker, as usual. “He and his crew had a huge fight the year after Sunnydale collapsed.” 

“They were tangling with a group of demonic lawyers called Wolfram and Hart, and there was a huge throw down. That’s when that dragon showed up. He’s got a nest in the old Wolfram and Hart building.”

“Demonic lawyers?” Andrea was clearly skeptical. “That’s kind of redundant, isn’t it?”

Buffy agreed. “They’re pretty slimy. From what I hear, they have branches in most of the major cities of the world, but Angel’s guys drove them out of L.A. That’s when all this started.”

“I don’t remember anyone every mentioning a Hellmouth in L. A.”

“There didn’t used to be one, Xander. Giles thinks the combination of the collapse of the Sunnydale Hellmouth, and the defeat of Wolfram and Hart started this one. So we’re on our way to L. A., to see if we can’t take this Hellmouth, and keep it out of the hands of those werewolves.”

“So you’ll be coming with us, right?” Willow asked.

“Not until we can put this Davraad down.” Willow was good at manipulating him, she’d been doing it for years. He’d have to stay firm. He glanced around the room at his friends, and his lover. He had to fight this thing for all of them.

“But won’t it go away when you leave? If it was here to prevent us from finding you, it’s too late, now. It has no reason to stick around.”

“Not really. He’s decided he likes the food here. He’s setting up shop in the prison.” Xander was so torn. He wanted to go with them, but he had important friends here, now. And Sean. He couldn’t lose Sean now. “I can’t go knowing that it’s going to be feeding on these men. I know that they’re inmates, they’re guilty of some pretty serious crimes, but they’re doing their time, they don’t deserve to be played with like this. Besides, my friends are here. I can’t leave this thing here. We have to kill it.”

Buffy leaned forward, arms on her knees. “Well, what do we have to do to get rid of it, then?”


	27. Chapter 27

Sean watched Xander as he laughed, telling Ray and Andrea a story about the time he set a spell book on fire with the power of his words. His heart hurt, knowing that soon Xander’d be gone, erased from people’s minds like he’d never existed. Not everyone’s minds, Xander had insisted on that. Ray, Andrea, Gloria, and of course Sean – they’d remember. He’d argued over Alvarez, but in the end, he’d agreed that it was wisest to leave his memory in the minds of the staff. Xander had promised to come back to Sean when this was over, but Sean was doubtful. Not that Sean didn’t trust Xander. He did. He just wasn’t sure that this was ever going to be over.

He ran his fingers over the chain around his neck. The medallion on the end didn’t look like anything special, merely a silver coin with the image of a woman in long flowing robes, her hand outstretched, and a ball of light on her palm. When Willow had brought the ingredients for the spell earlier, she’d pulled Sean aside, and asked his intentions toward her best friend. 

Sean had tried to explain how he felt, how important Xander was to him. But he couldn’t leave his friends there while the prison was so unsettled. He had commitments that he had to discharge before he could leave. That’s when she’d asked, if Sean had the means to follow Xander later, would he, knowing that Xander would be fighting with the Slayers in dangerous territory? He’d answered, “Of course,” without hesitation.

That’s when she’d handed him the medallion. The woman was Aradia, Goddess of the Lost, and on the other side was Saint Anthony, the patron Saint of lost items, and the people who seek them. She’d told him to wear it around his neck, and that when he wanted to find Xander, to hold it in his hand, and think of him. He’d always be able to find Xander, as long as he wore the medallion. 

He’d hugged Willow quite spontaneously, and Xander had stomped up and told her to, “Take your hands off the boyfriend, missy.” Sean had looked over at Ray, who was smiling at them, and he realized he’d actually found someone to love, despite his doubts. Ray had believed he would, and he’d been right. Sean knew he’d find his way to Xander somehow.

A fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Sean had chosen the room. It was dusty, but then they weren’t there for the ambiance, they just needed a space that wasn’t likely to attract any attention. It was a half-empty storage room in the basement, and they’d cleaned off a dirty table, so Ray had a place to mix the ingredients for his spell. Ray kept looking at them and saying, “I can’t believe I’m about to perform an exorcism.” He was incredibly excited, but also incredibly nervous. It wasn’t a traditional exorcism, and he’d never be able to tell his fellow priests about it, but still. Sean laughed as Ray checked the ingredients for at least the fiftieth time in twenty minutes. 

Xander was holding on to the wristband that Willow had handed over, promising them that once it was on the demon, it wouldn’t be able to take it off again. Nor would it be able to change hosts, and that was the important part. The hardest part was that neither Buffy or Willow could be here for the event. They’d all been a little disturbed when Willow told them that.

Xander kept murmuring, “stupid spells with their stupid requirements,” and pacing around the room. It was a pretty stupid requirement. The only people allowed to be present for the spell were those who were already known to the host. Not that they didn’t trust the crew they’d assembled, but none of them were accomplished spell casters, and this seemed to be a fairly tricky spell. At least from the list of ingredients, and the full page of instructions.

They were all ready, but they’d been waiting for an hour. Maybe the summons had failed. Or the Davraad had fooled them all, and left the prison after all. He wondered how long they should wait before they called it a lost cause, and got in touch with Willow to try again. Andrea was a solid rock. He was glad she was there. She stood by Ray, and let him babble about watching exorcisms in his youth, and how he wished he could tell the Abbot that he was about to perform a spell. His descriptions of what the Abbot’s face would look like were pretty damn funny. 

Sean was feeling great. He couldn’t wait to go by the infirmary afterwards and show his healed scar to Gloria. He’d called Willow a miracle worker, but she’d just blushed, and said that since Sean was Irish, she’d called on the Celtic Goddess Brighid to heal him, and she was simply channeling the Goddess’ power. He didn’t really care who it came from, he was just glad that he was healthy. He wished that he had some time alone with Xander, now that he was feeling so good. They’d only kissed so far, and it just wasn’t enough, but they both knew they needed to keep alert, so they’d kept to opposite sides of the room. Sean needed to be ready so he could protect Xander when the demon showed.

Xander was concerned about the host being hurt, and had spoken impassionedly about how important it was that they not sacrifice a human life in exchange for his. They all agreed, they would save killing the host to get to the Davraad as a last resort. But it was an option, and Sean would take that chance without a second’s hesitation if that’s what it took. Especially after Willow confirmed what Ray’s friends at the Vatican had told him – the Davraad couldn’t touch just anyone. It could only possess a human whose spirit was corrupt enough that he could easily accept a demon like a Davraad into his soul. That had started a serious discussion on the concepts of good and evil, but fortunately, Willow had brought the wristband, so none of them would have to worry about the Davraad taking over their bodies. 

That explained why the Davraad had never possessed Xander. He had been shocked when he first heard Sean say that. He’d had no idea that he was good enough to avoid possession, but Sean had never had a doubt. The man was too conscientious for his own good. It didn’t have a thing to do with how often you went to church, or how often you had sex or with whom, it was all about your conscience, and doing what you thought was right, and Xander was as good as they came. Xander still had his doubts, but Sean knew. He was very proud of his Xander.

The door opened, and Sean watched keenly until O’Reily and Gloria walked in. His burst of energy left him in a rush. What a letdown. 

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Andrea was obviously angry. 

Gloria answered for them. “I’m sorry. I had to tell Ryan. I was so worried, and he could tell that something was up. He said he’d help, if it would calm me down. I couldn’t concentrate, so he brought me here.” She looked around the room. “It hasn’t shown up yet?”

Andrea shoved her billy club back in its holder. “And it likely won’t at this point. You can’t just go wandering in on an exorcism, Gloria. What were you thinking?”

O’Reily stalked over, and Sean was afraid he was going to punch Andrea. He rushed over to get between the two. 

“Don’t you ever talk to Gloria like that again, you cunt!”

“Whoa!” Ray stepped between them before Sean got a chance to. “You need to calm down, Ryan.” Sean grabbed O’Reily, and pulled him back, away from Andrea. Obviously, she wasn’t as calm as Sean had thought. He couldn’t blame her, Sean was pretty damn tense, himself.

“All right, all right! I’m cool. You can let go now, Murphy.” O’Reily was obviously tense, but Sean understood that. He was taking a chance, exposing Gloria to a demon. He’d only agreed to come to make her feel better. Sean loosened his hold, and O’Reily pulled free, adjusting his shirt and frowning at everyone. Did he even understand what was going on, here? Ray and Xander had pulled Gloria to one side, talking intently to her, while Andrea watched O’Reily closely. 

Sean walked over to her. “You all right, Andrea?” 

She cracked her neck to the right, and then the left, her hands clenching her billy club. “I guess so. That guy just gets on my nerves. I don’t see how she can be around him, and not feel the vibes he puts off, but O’Reily is bad news.” 

Sean agreed. “I know.” He’d actually liked the guy when he’d first come to Em City. He’d liked the way he took care of his brother. Of course, he was the one who got his brother sent here in the first place, but still, he’d done the best he could, under the circumstances. But after his brother Cyril had died in the electric chair, Ryan had gotten ugly.

“I mean he talked his own brain-damaged little brother into killing Gloria’s husband, so she’d be free to love him.” Andrea was on a roll. “Now how sick is that shit? I don’t see how she can be around him, let alone say she loves him.”

“But you can’t control who you love, Andrea. Look at me.”

She laughed, “You and Harris, you two have got it bad. I think your love is real, and in a place like Oz, that’s rare.”

Sean’s eyes sought out Xander on the other side of the room. “He’s something special, isn’t he?”

“Look at you. You’re in fucking love.” She poked his shoulder, laughing.

Sean blushed at her teasing. He was in love. No matter how hard it was to believe. 

“You be sure you tell him before he leaves.” 

Sean brushed her off. He didn’t need any instructions. “He knows.”

“But have you said the words?”

She was insistent, wasn’t she? “No, not yet.” 

“Well, you’d better do it.”

He glanced over to where Xander was talking intently to Gloria. “I feel sorry for Gloria.”

“Yeah, I know.” She used Sean’s words back at him. “You can’t help who you love.”

She was right.

“What are you doing?” Ray’s worried voice cut through Sean’s thoughts.

O’Reily pulled his hands back, away from the table all Ray’s ingredients were laid out on. Ray started going through the ingredients, making sure everything matched the list Willow had left him.

“Sorry, Padre! I was just looking. I didn’t touch anything.”

“Stay away from this table, Ryan. It’s terribly important that the ingredients don’t mix until the time is right.”

O’Reily laughed. “It sounds like a recipe, not an exorcism.”

“Well, it may be different than the normal Roman Catholic exorcism, but as long as no one messes with the ingredients, it will do the trick. Just stay away. Is that clear?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” O’Reily moved off toward Xander and Gloria, where they spoke in a corner. Gloria looked nervous, but then they were all nervous. And O’Reily was acting like an ass, so that probably make her even more uptight.

Andrea watched closely as Ray went through the list on his paper. “Is everything okay, Padre?”

“Ray looked up, his eyes wide. “Everything’s been moved around, the colors aren’t right on some of the powders, and this one is all wet. I think he mixed them together.” 

“What?” Sean glanced over to where Xander was talking to the others two. “O’Reily screwed with your spell?”

“What the hell?” Andrea asked. “Do you think O’Reily is working for the demon?”

“Or O’Reily _is_ the demon.”

Ray’s words chilled Sean to the bone. He started walking over to Xander. Gloria reached out and took Ryan’s hand, and he smiled at her, then went back to his conversation with Xander. Out of nowhere, Gloria slipped the wristband onto O’Reily’s wrist. His eyes went wide, and he tried to pull it off, but it wouldn’t budge. He made a grab for Xander, who skipped back out of his reach. That’s when he grabbed Gloria, and held her in front of him, front to back, with a sharp knife at her throat.

He backed up, pulling Gloria with him, and Sean pulled Xander back, as well. 

“How did you know?” Sean asked. It was evident that Xander had figured it out when he skipped back out of arm range.

“Gloria asked me for the wristband, and told me to be careful of O’Reily. I figured that had to be what was going on, but I didn’t get a chance to ask before he showed up.”

“Gloria, how could you?” It sounded just like O’Reily, but Sean had heard its real voice, it was just trying to get Gloria’s sympathy. With a knife at her throat, that was going to be hard, but he’d seen more bizarre things in his life. “Sorry, Gentlemen, and Cunt…”

Andrea flipped it the bird.

“…but the lady and I will be leaving now.”

“No, you won’t.” Xander’s voice was firm, and Sean looked over, wondering what he had in mind.

“First, you’re going to let go of the lady, and then you’re going to…

“Wait, I know this one! Go directly to hell. Do not pass Go!” 

The demon let a bit of its old personality shine through, and it was even more disturbing with O’Reily in the mix. That was a dangerous combination; if the demon couldn’t get out of O’Reily’s body, there was a lot of damage the two of them could do together.

“I don’t think I’ll be going to hell. Been there, done that. It’s pretty damn boring, and you’ve got all these wonderful people to play with here. You could share a few with me, don’t ‘cha think? Besides, the Padre’s spell is on the fritz, didn’t you hear? He couldn’t send me to hell now, even if he was a master sorcerer.”

“You’re wrong there,” Ray said. He shoved everything off the table, and used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the table clean. The crash of bowls was loud, and had all of their attention, so even though he didn’t speak loudly, he was heard everywhere in the room. 

“Willow told me that a good spellcaster always comes prepared, because no spell is guaranteed to work the first time.” He held up a small brown bag. “She left backups!” 

He worked right through the cheers, laying out the bowls, and spooning out the powdered herbs and colored sands, and stones and candles, checking everything off the list. It really was a complicated spell for a beginner, like Sean knew what a complicated spell looked like. He hoped Ray could pull it off. At least the spell itself was simple, compared to the crap he had to do to get it ready. Just a couple of Latin phrases, and it was over. Sow the ground the demon sinks down into with salt, and they were done. 

The Davraad decided to bluff it, and it started moving toward the door with Gloria held close, but Sean, Andrea, and Xander stood in a row, and refused to let it get close. 

“I’ll kill her!” More and more of the Davraad’s personality was sneaking through, so it was possible that it might kill her, but the chances were high that it would kill her if it took her with it, anyway, so Sean thought it was a safe bet that she was at least as safe in the room as out of it.

“No you won’t.” It was the first time Gloria had spoken since the Davraad had grabbed her. Her voice was small, and trembling with fear, but Sean didn’t blame her for that. 

“Don’t tell me what to do! I told you, you can have your coochie-coochie Ryan baby back, as soon as I kill Harris, and get out of the prison. Are you backing out on our deal? Do you want me to take Ryan with me when I go?”

“If you go, you’ll have to take Ryan with you. That wristband won’t come off.” 

She said that with more certainty than the rest felt. Willow had told them it would last for at least several weeks, but a spell like that one, needed renewing on a regular basis. They weren’t planning to tell the Davraad that. Hopefully, it would be gone soon, and it would never come up.

“No. It doesn’t work that way, Sweetie. It’s easier to remove a spell than to cast one. Once I get away, I’ll make sure Ryan survives, and send him back to you. That make you happy?”

“And she can trust your word?” Andrea shook her head. “I don’t think so.” 

“She can trust my word more than she can Ryan O’Reily’s!” it shouted. “He lies to her all the time!”

“I love him. I hate you.” Gloria ground the words out though clenched teeth.

“Now, Gloria! Don’t be that way. You like us, we’re good in bed. Oh, well, closet, storage room, sneaking around in dusty basements… See, that’s the life ahead of you if I don’t get Ryan out of this place. You want to fuck Ryan on a bed, with silk sheets, and fluffy pillows, with soft music playing. Bodies grinding, slick muscles, heated skin…”

Sean was amazed at how quickly the thing lost track of what he was doing. And this is the monster that slaughtered dozens of people, and cost Xander his freedom? But hey, it could rant on all it wanted. Sean could hear Ray working like crazy in the background, and he was mumbling words, so they’d gotten to the mixing ingredients part. Two thirds there.

It frowned, puzzled. “You know, I just don’t get that whole _sex_ thing. It’s so much trouble. Gifts and chocolate, and dates and boyfriends and girlfriends. Kissing isn’t so bad, but it’s what kissing leads to that I can’t figure out. That’s when the lying and cheating start, and coveting and kink and bondage – okay, I like bondage, but all that other crap? What is that all about? And for what? You end up with some weak little crybaby that you’re going to have to feed and clothe and take care of for twenty-some odd years before you’re expected to drain your life savings just to send it to college! 

“See, you people should reproduce asexually, like us. No muss, no fuss, no explaining the facts of life to your embarrassed offspring…”

When Ray started chanting in Latin, Sean was surprised at how little time it had taken to get that together. He guessed all that checking and rechecking came in handy after all.

The Davraad was incensed. It started screaming, and cursing so loudly that Sean couldn’t even hear the words Ray was saying. Not like he’d understand them anyway. He’d done his time as an altar boy, he and his brothers, but nothing he’d heard in church would help him understand that. It didn’t take long, thank goodness. The Davraad slowly crumpled, taking Gloria with it down to the floor, the knife held at an angle away from Gloria’s skin. Sean was tempted to step in and grab her, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

But as Ray finished, the Davraad’s words changed. Xander got the words before he did, and he stepped closer, before Sean grabbed him. Something wasn’t right.

“I’m melting, I’m melting….What a world. What a world.”

Xander looked up in shock, and quickly stepped back as the Davraad jumped up, pulling Gloria along, laughing hysterically. 

“What the fuck?”

“Guys! I can’t believe your little Willow witch didn’t tell you that I can’t be exorcised, if the host wants me to stay!” There were tears running down his cheeks, he was laughing so hard. “You should have seen your faces! Oh my god, I never…”

Gloria’s face had turned to one of horror, and as he jerked her around and around, something in her hardened. Sean could see she was about to try something. The Davraad had a hell of a talent with those knives, he didn’t want her taking any chances, but she turned around in its arms, and as they watched, she kissed it. Its laugh stopped, and as it got sucked into the kiss, she reached around, grabbed the knife from its hand, and plunged it into its back.

It pulled away, and backhanded Gloria. She tumbled across the floor, and Ray was at her side, immediately, grabbing her under the arms and pulling her away. 

“You bitch! I was going to give you everything you wanted. Ryan loved you! I would have done that for you. You! And you stabbed me in the back. You stabbed me! In the back!”

Gloria stepped closer, Ray behind her, trying to keep her away. “I love Ryan. I always will. But if he stayed with you, I’d never be able to trust him again. You destroyed the man I love, and now I’ve destroyed you!”

It reached back, and pulled the knife out. They all stepped back, but it didn’t give them a chance to get away. It tackled Xander, and he knocked the knife aside. It went skidding across the floor. Sean ran for it, grabbing it up, and then pulled the Davraad off Xander. They rolled across the floor, struggling with the knife, and Sean knew what he had to do. He didn’t want it on anyone else’s conscience, so he had to be the one to do it. He plunged the knife into the Davraad’s heart.

He couldn’t tell if it was Ryan O’Reily or the Davraad who cried out, but it didn’t really matter. Its hands fell from around his neck, and Xander pulled him back and away, as a dark cloud seeped out of O’Reily’s body, and slowly sank down into the floor. Gloria knelt at Ryan’s side, crying as if her heart was broken, and Sean supposed it was. Ray came back to O’Reily’s side, where the dark cloud had left an oily residue on the concrete when it sank down. He sprinkled salt on the spot, then knelt down next to Gloria, and started to pray.


	28. Epilogue

Xander was so tired of hearing his name. It was Xander, the basement stairs are about to fall in; and Xander, one of the baby Slayers kicked out the railing on the second floor again; and Xander, there’s something wrong with the generator; Xander, the hole in the roof just fell in again; Xander, can you look at the floor in the kitchen; Xander, the sump pump is broken again; Xander, Xander, Xander…

Not that he was the only person who had tasks to do. Everyone took on as many jobs as they could, and still patrol in the evenings, and do their homework, because teenaged Slayer or ancient Watcher, there was always bookwork to be done. But Xander was beyond the age of school work, was definitely not a scholar, and although he swung a mean axe, he was not usually needed for patrols, although he definitely made the effort for large scale throw downs. 

Like the final battle for the Hyperion Hellmouth. Los Hermanos Lobo was a large gang, and there had only been about thirty baby Slayers here at the time, so everyone got in on it. That was when they’d found Angel and Spike. They’d been living down in the sewers, tracking the werewolves, and keeping an eye on the Hellmouth as best they could. When they finally drove off the last of the wolves, and took back the Hyperion, Angel took one look at the shape of his hotel, and almost cried. Xander came close to feeling sorry for him that day.

It had taken them a month just to clear out the worst of the mess. But it was slowly shaping up again. And strangely enough, Angel was being extremely helpful. He did all the really big jobs that a human couldn’t handle on his own. And he was going out of his way to be polite, which was almost creepy. Xander got the idea he wanted his hotel back in shape again, so he was determined not to piss off the one guy who had the best shot at getting it done. Not that he was being less of a broodmeister; he was still king of the broods, but after a shaky year or three, he was back on track for his redemption. Fighting the good fight, as Spike would say. 

Xander liked working with his hands, so he didn’t really mind keeping the place up. It’s just that the Hyperion was eighty years old, and there was only one of him, so some days, it got a little overwhelming. He did have a couple of workers that helped out, in their spare time, but spare time was always hard to come by in L.A. Xander had thought that once they took the Hyperion, the work load would ease up, since they’d have a permanent home base, instead of moving around every few days, trying to find something more defensible. 

That wasn’t the way it worked, though. They just traded one set of problems for another. What was he thinking, anyway? He hadn’t actually expected life to run smoothly when they lived on top of a Hellmouth, had he? Fortunately, the first thing Giles, Willow, and all the little magic users had done was build some damn-hefty shields on the Hellmouth down in the basement. That meant there was less trouble from Hellmouth vibes leaking out and driving all the demons crazy like they had when the Sunnydale Hellmouth had been in the basement of the high school. 

But the whole time Los Hombres Lobo had run the Hellmouth, they’d been slowly destroying what was left of the Hyperion. So now, Xander got to put it back together again, and there were just not enough hours in the day. They were about due for another shopping trip; he was almost out of lumber, screws, PVC piping, water purification tablets, and fuel for the Bunsen burners. It would be a lot easier if they could really just go shopping, but Home Depot was a thing of the past. 

He’d come across a couple of hardware stores last week, when they’d been foraging for food, that looked like they had potential. It looked like neither of them had been touched. But then hey, what did biker werewolves need with hammers and saws? At least he had a couple of good places to start hunting. He really had to get Spike to teach him how to pick locks, it was a lot easier than throwing bricks through the windows. 

Then next week, he’d make a trip out to civilization, see how close he had to get to Phoenix before he could find a working telephone. The last two times he’d called, he couldn’t get through to either Sean’s house, or the prison. Ray’s number wasn’t working either. He had no idea what that meant. Were they having phone trouble, or had they moved? He couldn’t see Sean leaving Ray or McManus. As long as the prison stood, Sean would be there, trying to hold it together. 

He hated to admit it, but he kind of missed Oz. Not the prison, but the people: Alvarez, Busmalis and Rebadow, Poet, Stella, Gloria, Phelan, Ray. And god, but he missed Sean. He missed his voice, and his crooked smile, and his smart ass attitude. Damn. He missed Sean so much it _hurt_. If he couldn’t raise Sean or Ray this time, maybe he’d ask Willow to do a location spell. He hated to bother her; her time was even more in demand than his was. But he needed to know if Sean was okay.

There was a loud bang, and a large group of Slayers came in, laughing and talking excitedly. He might be in the kitchen, but he could hear them clearly. They were back early from the afternoon patrol, but it didn’t sound like anything bad had happened. Well, if the Slayers were back, he should probably put away his tools. He’d tighten the rest of the chairs later. They’d be charging in any minute, hungry for a snack after expending all their Slayer energy on patrol. Those girls ate more than he ever had at their age, and he’d thought he was a bottomless pit of hunger.

“Xander! Xander!”

Oh, god. Loud, squealing teenage voices, calling his name. Someone must have fallen through that old couch in the lobby. He’d told them to toss that thing. They were probably waiting for him to do it. They had all the super strength, they could move it themselves. And then they could find a better one to replace it, and set it up, too. After Xander had checked it for fleas. One bad thing about foraging parties, you had to be careful what you brought home.

“Xander! Get out here! Now!”

That sounded like Buffy. He hoped nothing bad had happened on patrol. 

Keiko bounced into the room, just as he tucked his toolbox in a corner. “He’s in here!” That was followed by a long stream of Japanese that made him laugh.

“Hey, you know I don’t speak Japanese!” She grabbed him by the hand, giggling as she pulled him out into the lobby. “All I can say is Godzilla! Mothra!! Gamera, Gamera!!” 

He heard a laugh from near the front door, and he recognized it immediately. He turned to see Sean standing on the stairs into the lobby. “Hey, Xander. I told you I’d find you.”

His heart stopped for a second, and he wondered if he needed to call the medic. Then he was running, a huge grin splitting his face. He grabbed Sean and held him as tight as he could, and the girls all said, “Awwwww….”

Buffy walked past, and smacked him on the arm. “Hey, keep the kisses for the bedroom.”

There were giggles, and he turned to Buffy, who stood there with her face all squinched up. “That’s not what I meant. Really.”

“Uh, huh.” He couldn’t keep his attention on her. “You made it!” he told Sean, although he figured Sean knew it already, but he couldn’t stop saying, “You’re here!” At least that was better than Gamera! Gamera!

“And I’m not alone.” Sean motioned over his shoulder, and Xander looked up. There stood Ray, and Gloria. 

“It’s so good to see you guys!” He had to give them a big hug each. “Are you two on vacation?”

“They closed down Oz.” 

Xander’s jaw dropped at Ray’s announcement.

“What?”

“Werewolf bikers,” Sean said.

“No way!”

“And an infestation of what I swear were demon slugs.” Gloria shuddered. “We’re here for now. No place better to go. And, who knows, maybe we can do some good.”

“You found him!” Willow came up from behind Xander, followed by Giles. “I’m so glad!” 

“You all remember Buffy and Willow, right?” They all exchanged hellos. “Giles, this is Ray, Gloria, and Sean.”

Giles raised one eyebrow. “The legendary Sean? I see Willow’s medallion accomplished its purpose.”

“It worked perfectly.” Sean couldn’t help by smile gratefully at Willow. “Thank you.”

“You are aware that our life here is not an easy one?”

Giles’ question was aimed at Sean, but Ray accepted it for all three of them. “We’re all aware of that. You have a difficult life, and you shouldn’t have to bear it alone. We’re here to help, in whatever way we can.”

Giles sniffed. “Well, I suppose a priest with the knowledge of Latin could come in handy.”

“I also know Hebrew, Greek, Italian, Japanese…”

Buffy interrupted him, “How many languages do you know?”

“Eight, but I’m only fluent in three.”

“Well, I’m sold. I couldn’t make it past high school French. “Plus, we could certainly use someone to bless holy water for us.”

“And Buffy.” She looked over at Xander’s solemn look. “Gloria is a doctor.”

Buffy gasped, and rushed over to take her bags. “Let’s find you a room. Then I’ll introduce you to our medic!”

“You’re all welcome here,” Giles told them, “but Buffy, perhaps the introductions could wait until later. I’m sure they’ve had an arduous journey.”

“Oh, yes, please.” Gloria was practically begging. “A bed would be wonderful. Do you have beds?”

“Are you kidding? We live in a hotel!”

Sean started to follow the others up the stairs, but Xander stopped him, and pulled him into a kiss. Oh, yes. This was what he’d been missing. Sean had come looking for him. He didn’t know what more he could ask. Except… As they started up the stairs after the others, Xander asked, “Sean, you any good with a hammer and nails?”

“Well, I’ve hammered a few things in my day. My brothers and I built my parents deck for them. I checked it out when I went home last year. It hasn’t fallen down, yet.”

Xander laughed. “I knew you were the perfect guy for me.”

“So you’ve given up demon hunting for carpentry?”

“And small engine repair.” Xander looked at him solemnly. “Not the life you had in mind, huh?”

“Not quite, but that’s okay. It’s probably a lot safer.”

Xander chuckled darkly. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s not?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, I shouldn’t expect anything different from you,” Sean told him. “You’ve surprised me from the first day I met you.”

“You thought I was a serial killer!”

Sean pulled back, his eyes wide with shock. “You mean you’re not? Then what am I doing with you?”

Xander grabbed him by the neck of his shirt, and pulled him close. “Oh, shut up, and kiss me.” Oh, yeah. That was better. No, it was _better_ than better. It was just perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Story Notes:
> 
> Chapter Two: Murphy's "The Routine" speech uses direct quotes from Whittelsey’s speech in “The Routine” - Season 1, Episode 1 of Oz.
> 
> Chapter Six: Andrea Phelan is a minor character in Seasons 4-6. The role features [Sandra "Pepa" Denton](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sandra_Denton), a hip hop artist and actress, best known for her work as a member of the female rap trio Salt-N-Pepa. Sandra Denton was born in Jamacia, and came to the U.S. as a child, and I used those facts in the story, to help build the character of Andrea Phelan. 
> 
> Chapter Seventeen: The opening lines of the scene – a news program on the TVs in Em City about Times Square, NYC came from the Wikipedia entry of the same name: [Times Square](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Times_Square).
> 
> Poet’s poem taken from "Sonata da Oz," Season 6, Episode 3
> 
> The poem _"[Howl](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15308)"_ is by [Allen Ginsberg](http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/8). The edition Xander leaves for Poet is from the [Pocket Poet Series](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5963).
> 
> Chapter Twenty-Six: The lines “I’m melting, I’m melting….What a world. What a world.” is a quote by The Wicked Witch of the West from [The Wizard of Oz](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wizard_of_Oz_%281939_film%29). 
> 
> Epilogue: [Godzilla](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Godzilla), [Mothra](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mothra_%28film%29), and [Gamera](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamera) – Most people know Godzilla, but did you know about Mothra and Gamera? 
> 
> I borrowed the idea of the Cabal from … the Cabal. You know who you are.


End file.
